Phantom Funnies
by hammy ham ham
Summary: Danny's life takes a turn for the hilarious in this zany version of the world. Who would have thought that Danny was the celestial being's punching bag? With everything from jello to glowing remote controls to rants about genetics, laughter is guaranteed
1. The Lab Accident

Let me make this horrifically clear. I don't own Danny Phantom, Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Jazz Fenton, Maddie Fenton, Jack Fenton, or anybody else in this show. Thank you.

New! The lab accident with a twist of lime!

Hi, I'm Danny Fenton. I'm a 14 year old guy with a couple of best buddies, a snobby older sister who thinks she's Sigmund Freud reincarnate, and parents who hunt ghosts for a living. Yes, ghosts. I don't know why either. They've never seen a a ghost, we keep on trying to tell them its a bunch of movie projectors or holograms, but they won't buy it. Figures, maybe they lived near power plants when they were kids...

Oh, by the way, no, they aren't legally insane. My sister's been trying to have them tested, but there's some problem with having personal ties to the patients or some such. I'm not sure whether they're insane or just heavily obsessed. Maybe some off mix of the two, Jazz is the expert.

They make equipment to fight ghosts. How they know how to attack something that doesn't exist is beyond my mortal comprehension. Hey, that's the longest word I've used all week! Have to chalk that one up, new record.

Anyway, lately they've been trying to build this portal between here and the 'Ghost Zone', where 'ghosts' supposedly spend their free time. My friends and I are betting on the theory it's the prop room from some kid's Halloween party. That or where they leave the left over stuff from Knott's Scary Farm...

Really, an alternate dimension full of dead guys? Maybe my parents need drug tests too, I'll have to see if I can slip any from the school's 'drug awareness center', alias the spare broom closet. In fact, I think they left the spares under the Lysol crate when I was 'randomly chosen' to have a drug test. ...What's with the looks?--Oh, duh, of course it came out negative, what did you think, I'm on crack or something! ...Then again, the eggs did smell funny this morning... Maybe mom's cooking with ecto whatever the heck it is again.

Moving on... I figure, why not snoop around the lab and see what's going on the basement-converted-lab? My buds and I've been looking for the TV remote for a couple hours, and I have a hunch they 'borrowed' it and turned the infra red signal into some ghost energy disrupter or something like that. Wouldn't put it past them, not after what they did to my sister's old jump rope. Fenton fisher? What in the name of all that is on during Saturday morning TV?

I ask my buddies, Sam and Tucker, and they agree to come along in my never ending quest for the TV remote. Every few days it's the same thing. You see, when mom and dad haven't swiped it, my sister will change the channel to something educational like Discovery Channel and hide the remote in a place where I can't reach. Lousy four inch hight difference. Just wait until dad's genes come in and I'm the size of a mini van, then we'll see what happens when 'Bearbert' takes a permanent vacation up the chimney shoot ... Oh wait, you didn't hear that!

So... I'm ranting again, aren't I? Damn genetics. They make me wait to get tall enough to outreach my _sister_, but do I have a say in when I spontaneously began to blabber on? No...

Spontaneously? Holy crud, two vocabulary words in one day? My third grade teacher would be so proud... Maybe now I can finally convince her I did not cheat off Tucker's paper during the English test, I knew how to spell 'because' on my own! I was just... Checking his spelling for him! Yeah, that's it. I just happened to spell amazing with an S like he did, no connection what so ever!

..._Cough, _so, we go down to the lab. Everything seems in order. Beakers strewn across the floor, welder's torch about to fall off the table, and enough cookies crumbs to feed an ant colony through the winter. Yep, everything just as it was the last time I came down here to let dad 'borrow' the elastic in my sweat band last week. You know, thinking about it, I never did get that sweat band back... Probably in some automatic ghost laser gun by now.

Everything looks in order, until I see a big hole in the wall. Holes in the walls are common place down here, you see, dad gets a little trigger happy when he makes a something that does anything besides spark.

A tip, move the rug under the sink and you can still see the scorch marks on the kitchen floor. Dad just wouldn't let us call the plumber, nope. He had to go all Star Wars on us and blast the pipe until the clog- a month old Peeps marshmallow from Easter- melted and left a nice light blue stain on the industrial size bucket. How we got that to fit under the sink is a story for another day, which also involves dad going trigger happy down here.

However, this hole in the wall was huge. Probably five feet square, if I'm any judge. There's also three knobs on the side. I look, and smack my head. My parents spend all night working on this thing, and the one thing they forgot was to turn on the power. Now, I'm no scientist, and maybe I'm plum out of my pea-picking mind, but somehow I think that you need to let energy in to something before it'll work.

I turn the knobs until they're all set to the first setting, might as well help along, right? Maybe now they'll shut up about it. Between them and Jazz I swear its a miracle I haven't ripped my ears off.

Sam clicks her tongue, and I turn. I hate it when she does that, I've been trying to learn to do it forever, and she loves to do it to get my attention,and generally tick me off. She asks me why I don't look inside and check it out, see if there's anything else that might have made the machine stop. You know, loose wire, plug that isn't plugged, junk like that. It was actually a pretty fair concern, considering they forgot to TURN ON THE FLIPPIN' POWER SWITCH...

Of course, in a good, if not short lived, stroke of genius, I'm not exactly sure about heading into some weirdo portal to the next plain of existence. Suppose this things actually works and you get zapped to Zombieville, we want your brains? She tells me she doubts it'll do anything unless it gets turned on, and I buy it. She preaches me about how it could be amazing and cool and great in there, and I take it, hook, line and sinker. I get on one of my parent's jumpsuits, a white one with black gloves, boots, collar and belt.

Of course, being the fellow I am, I need Sam to tell me to get the sticker of my dad's face off first. No use making _that kind_ of a first impression in another dimension. I could see it now. 'Hi! I'm Danny Fenton, a powerless human geek who wears his dad's face on his shirt and is the first ambassador from Earth!' ...I rest my case for why I need Sam around.

She then replaces it with some funko insignia she said she made when she was a little kid that looked like a D with hole in the bottom to make the middle look like a P. Supposedly, we were all dressing as super heroes once for Halloween and I pretended to be a super hero called 'Danny Phantom', and for art class, Sam made an insignia for all three of us; Danny Phantom, Goth Gal, and Cyber Geek. Second grade teachers eat that kind of stuff up with a shovel.

I go in, and, of course, being the clumsy kid I am, I trip over a wire and dive bomb into the wall. Yay for me and my 'coordination'. Of course, karma having the fetish for frying my ass it does, I land on the power button. Next thing I know, ZZZAAAPPPP... BIG WHITE LIGHT.

No, I didn't move toward the light, the light was baking me alive you moron. Why would you go toward the light when you're being roasted alive like the smart little bug that tried to land on the candle? I'll never laugh when a moth does that again. The ants under a magnifying glass, how ever, are a different story. I have reasons for doing that, involving Paulina, a field trip with the Buddy system, and a war of _fire ant_ colonies that just happened to be _right_ where I put my nine year old duff. It still stings when ever I see one of the little six legged SOBs...

After what seemed like forever the light stopped and I tried to get the stars out of my eyes. I heard someone yelling my name. Great, I'm hearing voices in my head too, now? This day gets better and better, right along with the time I told Dash I forgot my lunch money and got a close up view of the nasty burger's toilets. Haven't used them since, nor gotten rid of the nightmares I get just by seeing one. Nobody should ever have to be that intimately familiar with the contents of a public restroom.

I stumble out, and I hear Sam and Tucker yelp. What, was my skin cooked off of me or something? Might be an interesting experience to finally see what in the heck a spleen looks like. I look at my hands, and see white. So my skin's white from being burned? I look again, and notice that my hand is _glowing_. That's right ladies and Gents, _glowing_.

Suddenly, my memory kicks in, and I ponder about the effects that much energy might have on a human body. I also happen to remember my parent's love of shiny metal. Maybe I could finally see what spooked Tucker and Sam so bad. I turn toward the chrome side of the lab to get a look at myself. I have white, almost silver hair, glowing green eyes, and am wearing a black jump suit.

Oh yeah, I've definitely joined mom and dad in the loony bin. How could a human being be glowing? Then, realization dawns. I've been shocked with a bazillion volts of electricity, I'm glowing, I have white hair, glowing green eyes, and I'm pale as a... oh crap.

That can't be right, ghosts don't exist. I should of gone up to some golden gates and met some dude with wings that tells me off for all I've done and sends me as far down south as I can go. At least, that's what I planned, what with all the times I mentally cussed people out. God can read minds, right?

Oh, duh, of course Fenton, you're dreaming! Just pinch yourself or something and it'll be tomorrow, you'll be late for the bus, and having dad air horn you out of bed.

I bite my lip, and sure enough, it hurts, and a little bit of green stuff comes out of my lip. Thus, I established three things. One, this isn't heaven or Hell, because I felt pain, two, this isn't some wack job dream, and third, I'm bleeding what ever the heck my parents use to power their equipment.

In other terms, I'm a qualified, deader-than-a-doornail ghost. Maybe I should take back what I said about my parents being nuts for believing in this stuff. Nah, they're the ones who made this death trap and left it wide open, and that's room enough for being insane.

I look at Sam and Tucker, they're frozen in in their places. Like those scenes in the matrix. I hold up my hand, and it starts to glow green, the glow around it changing shape. I look at it in shock, and then horror. What the heck, if being dead isn't bad enough, I'm _melting_ now! I mentally tell it to stop, but too late, some green laser fires out of my hand and knocks something off a shelf. Well, at least I'm not melting, I just shot a laser from my hands.

Wait a flippin' second. I just shot a laser from my hands. What could I do with a built in laser. Where to begin. Pantsing, peep holes, showing everyone that the cafeteria food is in fact combustible... Oh wait, what'd I knock down?

I look at what fell, the TV remote. Oh irony, why must you do this? I come down here to find the TV remote, die, and then find it? You know, when I have no use for it? Why couldn't I find it _before _I kicked the bucket? I need to find the telephone number for the god of karma, irony, and Murphy's law, and give him a piece of my mind.

In fact, I think of going up to the clouds to talk to a certain entity, and I begin to float up. Yes, float. I'm a ghost, it comes with the territory.

I, having no clue, begin screaming. However, as soon I start screaming, I feel my head tingle. I hold my hand up to it, and it goes _through_. I look at the wall, and my head's gone. Great, I'm gonna be like that ghost from that one book series. What was his name anyway, almost headless bob or something?

Well, at least no one would be able to pin it on me if I had no head. Then again, there couldn't be that many headless ghosts... Maybe I can bring my head back. I think of my head, and it comes back. Good. Maybe now I can establish some control over my new ghostly abilities.

I turn toward my friends, and tell them to come closer. They look at me for a minute, before slowly coming forward. Great, they're scared of me. Wonderful. I'm dead, I'm a ghost, and my friend's won't willfully poke me with a ten foot stick.

I look at them, before saying, "Well, dude, dudette; I think I'm dead! Isn't today great? Dead at the age of fourteen, cause of death: curiosity killed the cat."

Sam looked at me cautiously, before stuttering, "C-care t-to elaborate?

I sighed, before going on one of my family's famous rants. I sucked in a deep breath, before saying, "I've passed on! This kid is no more! I have ceased to be! I've expired and gone to meet my maker! I'm a stiff! Bereft of life, I rest in relative peace! If I wasn't floating up here I'd be pushing up the daisies! My metabolic processes are now history! I'm off the rocking chair! I've kicked the bucket, I've shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!

I AM AN EX-KID!"

...Man I _seriously_ need to watch less Monty Python. Before I start singing about being a lumberjack. Or spam.

They look at me, shocked. Of course they'd be shocked, if your best friend went in some hole in the wall, got zapped, came out glowing and started quoting Monty Python's Flying Circus, wouldn't you? However, Tucker can talk. No, he doesn't have guts, he has a mouth the size of Texas. I'd willfully trade the latter for the former.

He asked, "A ghost? What makes you say that?"

I sigh. Strike one for the 'my friends will make me a better person' theory. I turn to him, a bit off guard at the lack of observation of my good friend. I look at him for a minute, before replying with as much sarcasm as I could muster, "Let's recap. I'm glowing. I'm shooting green junk out of my hands. I'm floating in mid air. Face it guys, I was human, but I've gone ghost."

Strangely, at these words, a pair of light blue rings form around my middle. What, am I supposed to do the hoola hoop? Is this candid camera or something?

The rings separate, and I look curiously at where they've passed. My normal clothes. Holy crap. The rings vanish at my head and feet, and I'm completely normal. No more glowing hands or funky black jumpsuit. Unfortunately, along with them, went my ability to float.

I fell on the floor, yelping as I landed on my tail bone. I look back, and gulp. Just one more thing to add to this day. My butt's gone, just like my head was. Great.

My friends look at me, double taking, before each grabbing one of my once again living hands and helping me up. I look back behind me, still gone.

I sigh. "Great, I'm some freak of nature ghost hybrid, in a house full of ghost hunters, who'll probably zap me on sight, and to top it all of, I've got no ass."

Tucker looked at me cautiously, before putting a his arm on my shoulder. Well, at least he can comfort me. Still afraid though, drat. He looked at me sympathetically, before saying, "Come on dude, having no ass is not a problem. You can pickup chicks as the ghost you, girls love a guy in a tight jumpsuit"

I sigh, strike two, so much for the comforting Tucker. I look at him with daggers, before pointing at my still invisible behind. "No Tuck, as in, its really gone. I've got no butt, it disappeared to where ever the heck my head went when it disappeared."

Tucker looked at me oddly, before a sudden fit of the giggles set in. What, is Tucker epileptic or something? He held his gut. Don't barf on me, buddy.

Tucker looked at me, before checking to the side, as if looking at my... Oh, I get it. Pervert Tuck strikes again, laughing at the poor unfortunate soul who's rear disappeared off the face of the Earth. I concentrated, and it came back into view. Thank god. How I would ever get a date to the prom with no ass was beyond me.

Tucker and Sam let out a small 'eek' as my bum came back. They'll have to get used to that.

Sam rubbed the back of her head, as if unsure to approach me. Finally, she said, "So... What now? I mean, we can't tell your parents or jazz, you'll probably get locked up some where and be in the new X files episode. How are we going to keep it secret?"

To tell you the truth, I had no clue. If my body parts kept on disappearing, somebody would notice eventually. I could blame it on my parents having toxic waste around, but then they'd be in trouble, and insanity aside, they _are_ my parents.

Finally, I said, "I guess I'll just have to be careful." Lucky me. I better be getting some major karma points for this.

I looked at the small device in my hands, glad for little miracles. "Well, at least we got the remo-"I began to say, but stopped when I looked inside the remote. No batteries, and we're fresh out.

I look hopefully to my friends, who shrugged, signalling that they have nothing on them. I sigh, hoping that maybe Jazz switched the channel. As if, but maybe karma decided to give me some help?

I turn on the TV, and it's stuck on a documentary about the ant colonies of Asia. Damn you karma.

I have one thing to say about this day, and one thing only.

"This day has been crap. Sheer, udder crap."


	2. Danny's first Day

Danny's first Day. Soccer moms, break out the tissues.

So... I have ghost powers now. Splendiforous. I'm a half ghost freak who randomly starts floating and sinking through the floor.

Well, I won't have to wait until puberty now, Bearbert has a reserved place in the chimney. I even took the care to write 'Bearbert' on a napkin and stuff it up on the spark guard.

Hey, it's the least I could do for the stuffed pile of fluff. After all, he made for awesome blackmail. Nobody will ever know the tale of the whip cream incident. Everyone's convinced the stains on the roof of my room are from dad leaving a grenade in my milkshake any how.

Well, anyway, it's the first day of High School, aren't I lucky. I just had to become a freak the day before school starts. That's karma for you, when I was born, I was chosen as its holy punching bag.

Or at least, I think that's what it meant when they put me in with the girl babies because they ran out of room in the boy's nursery, so everyone was saying how I was such a beautiful little girl... Oh yeah, in case you didn't know by now, I'M A GUY...

Ouch, gotta get on the bus, being late on the first day is an unwritten taboo among teachers. They're evil that way. Spew tons of junk about your effort and promise, but when you ask them for one second chance they slam a book in your face and ask for a thousand page essay on the necessity of discipline in society. Happened enough times I have it saved on my computer. Nobody's gotten wise to it though. Maybe the house's radiation is leaking...

Crud, missed the bus. Well, I guess I could run... But then I remembered the one fatal flaw in that plan. The thirty pounds of the dead wood they call textbooks being lugged around on my back. Oh well, like I had a choice. So, I sprinted after the yellow menace as fast as my scrawny little legs would get me there. When I say scrawny, I mean able to be compared to the pipes on those lawn chairs. I mean, barely-did-the-mile-run-in-ten-minutes scrawny.

Too bad wood doesn't have a ghost, then at least I might have something to have a conversation with besides that dang ant-sized Jazz in the back of my head yelling at me about responsibility and all that garbage.

I keep on telling that thing that I'm running as fast as I can with out risking breaking my back from the dead weight known as my 'tools toward a brighter future', but will it listen, no. I'm hoping that it'll go away eventually, but so far my attempts have been as fruitless as the apple tree dad sicced his flame thrower on last year. If you don't ask, I won't tell.

After ten or so minutes of high speed chase, I find my way to Casper High School. Casper, the name rings a bell. Wasn't he that goody two-shoes ghost that haunted some old manor? Yeah, not exactly the best name for the shark tank known as High School.

I enter the halls, seeing them pretty darn empty. That could mean one of two things. Either, A, I broke the speed of light and went back in time far enough that school hadn't opened, or I was late. Based off my PE grade, the latter seemed a lot more likely.

I look at the small slip of paper in my hand. The first class, English with Mr. Lancer. Joy to the world, I get to learn the language I'm speaking right now! I already know English, who in the heck cares about some nut case author who's only friend is a typewriter? Do I honestly _need_ to know what a haiku was if I wanted to make it through life?

I run into the classroom, to find a class staring at me, holding in sniggers. I look down, and my pants have fallen down. I got pantsed by _nothing_. The air did what I'd been trying to do to a certain quarterback for years. Great first impression, Fenton. You've currently reached somewhere between band Geek and Trekkie.

I look around the room again, and realize that the teacher is writing down something on a piece of paper. Make that somewhere between a band Geek who cost the band the championships and a Trekkie who didn't know who Spok was.

I twitter over to Tucker and Sam. Yes, twitter. My pants are making weird sounds from the combination of being pulled up while walking and the gallon of bleach mom uses.

I sit by them, hiding my face behind my backpack. However, this was short lived, as my arm went through my backpack and, because karma commanded it so, right into the squishy, sticky contents of the jello cup in my lunch.

...and people say that nobody's after me. Yeah, right. The entire network of entities probably spends their Tuesday morning thinking up ways to torture me. When I pull my hand out, it is still covered small particles of jello left. Maybe Wednesday mornings too.

I look around, hoping nobody noticed. Maybe god had taken a coffee break that Tuesday morning, because nobody was looking at me.

Then, upon realizing why, I quickly take back what he said about god being busy that Tuesday. Really, he'd come to ask a friend to brainstorm with.

I look up at Mr. Lancer, who is at that moment marching down the isles, right toward my desk. Great, if it's not enough that the entire population of all powerful beings has it in for me, my English teacher does too.

He stops in front of my desk, giving me a glare as cold as the water bottle my hand slipped through on the way to its squishy destination. I give him an uneasy smirk. I am dead. I am worse than dead. I am one and a half times dead, courtesy of my dad's favorite new toy.

Mr. Lancer is about to give me the speech of a lifetime, when he hears a slight squish. He looks down, and sees that he is stepping in something green. I was about to hit myself in the head, my jello must have stuck to my hand and fallen out when I removed the sticky appendage.

I'm not just dead, I'm road kill from an 18 wheeler with a drunk driver that got stuck in a ditch and backed over my mutilated corpse getting out.

He just gives me a look so flaming I think the dry ice in the Science lab next door just melted. It would explain the fog that came out of my mouth at that moment. However, the mist is also... cold. Freako. I look around in my desk and spot a cockroach going lazily across the bottom. Normally I wouldn't care, except that it had a slight green tinge. Great. My desk is infested with dead cockroaches ghosts. Just what I wanted, a desk fell of glowing bugs.

The period passes by pretty quickly, it was the first day, so the periods are only half an hour. Just a load of mumbo jumbo about all the promise we show and all of the great things we can accomplish. I get up to leave, making sure to dodge the green stain on the floor that had, at one point, been dessert. Whether this title was lost when Mr. Lancer stepped on it or when Maddy made her own food dye is unknown.

Either way, I don't really want it in my stomach, or what ever the heck I have left after been microwaved alive yesterday, which really, is the cause of this whole mess.

Next up, the joy of algebra. Lord spare us all. I've gotten through life this far with out it, why the heck would I need it now? Letters, you see, belong in _English_ class, not _Math..._

I at least get to this one in time, with my butt still safely hidden. Thank goodness, maybe karma took a three day weekend.

I sit in the second row, since Tucker and Sam aren't in this class. Lucky gits. I'm stuck with the most strict teacher in the school as far as grading goes. The door opens, and a small pudgy man comes out. Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you Mr. Smith. I tell you, the Smiths are taking over. There are enough Smiths in the world, they even got their own movie. Smith, that's about as plain vanilla as you can get. Well, at least it's better than the poor sap who's named Mrs. Carp. Why that's a bad name I shouldn't even have to go in to. Let's just say that spelling runs amok in her class.

Anyway, moving on... Mr. Smith grabs his chalk and walks over to the board, Great, he's writing our death sentence. Why won't they just give us life in 9th grade and be done with it? Before our brain cells go through a small holocaust? ...Damn you vocabulary words!

He writes ymx+b. All righty then. No numbers. Superb. Wait, what in the heck? He's drawing a line on the graph board. Well, maybe I can survive. Lines are okay, I mean, at least I remember which axis is the X and which is the Y. Sometimes.

He turns to us, and asks us for the equation of the line. You know what, forget the holocaust, just nuke them all. With a half a ton of uranium and plutonium and planet-here-ium on board.

He looks down a list and calls out a name. Three guesses who, and the first two don't count. I said it before, and I'll say it again, DAMN YOU KARMA!

So, now I've been challenged with putting numbers in the place of letters, which should be against the laws of physics. It's against the laws of my brain anyway. It's a straight line, going across from the two... Well, the y setting is two, there's nothing else. I tell the teacher that, and... HOLY. FRIGGIN'. GYM SOCKS. I got it right. Well, I would start celebrating, but right now I'm more scared of what horrible event the guys upstairs have planned for me if they gave me even a slimmer of good. That, and because I've been at the top of their hit list ever since I fell asleep during the sermon. I was five, cut me a break.

Oh wait, now I remember. The person who gets the first question right of the year gets... called on the most. crap. Danny: zip; guys up stairs :2. Yep, karma's punching bag when I was born, and the old guy's having a tantrum.

Well, I was called on twice the rest of the period, wrong on both accounts. Why, pray tell, does M stand for the slope? Shouldn't it be, I don't know, S for slope? I really need to find who ever made algebra and make him acquainted to the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick. I think it applies.

Now for snack. Or, in realistic terms, fifteen minutes of sitting on your duff and telling your buddies about how mind numbingly awful your teachers are. That's about the gist of it for the first few days, same thing every school year.

I find Tucker and Sam and ask them about their second period teachers. I'm hoping karma didn't decide to spread its hatred toward my buddies. Sam has the art teacher second period, and Tucker's got Computers. They great their favorite subjects, and I'm stuck with as a Smith's class favorite. I have a horrible urge to bang my head on the table.

In fact, I do bang my head on the table, but my head just then turned invisible, so my head went through the table. Great. God hates me and he won't even let me take me frustration out on school property. This day sucks.

After fifteen or so minutes of regaling the tales of second period, the bell rings. One thing about me, I've always hated school bells. They're always so shrill and come at the least convenient times. I swear there's a little camera next to them that tells it to ring right before I get to say anything.

Anyway, so we hightailed it off. I get to go to PE next. Yay. Well, judging by my sprint this morning I think my ghost powers made me stronger. I hope.

I run into the gym, and the class is about half full by now. I look at the cursed piece of paper that tells me the schedule of my demise. Seat number 13. Yep, they definitely spend their Tuesday and Wednesday mornings finding ways to torture me.

Well, at least today is only safety rules. No weight lifting or sprinting. If I was running and suddenly sank through the floor, I don't think I can blame quick sand again. The neighbors are already getting suspicious from when I used that yesterday, I think one of them is calling the foundation guy to get his house checked for it.

The teacher comes, a real brute of a guy. Heck, it would be easy to picture him as one of those executioners that use guillotines. I learned that word in a school play, by the way. How the heck else would I know it? I mean, it's not like I study.

Then, joy to the world, he starts yelling at us about our puny little bodies and how it looks like getting hit with a brick would snap us in half. Now I'm wondering whether he was an executioner, a mercenary, or one of the green berates. Any of the three fits. My money's on Green Berate right now. Looks like a trained killer...

Of course, he makes me stand as an example of a scrawny little kid. Just wait until the growth spurt buddy. I'll be as high as you and about twice as thick.

He asks me to stand near the fence-why? Oh, great, he's comparing my limbs to the metal fence posts. Wonderful. Yes, I have straw-like limbs. We established that several years ago when Dash fit my arm through the funnel at the Science Museum. Can I go back to the people who don't want me dead now?

He shoves me back to the group, and I sit back down. All that happened past that was a load of squawking. Great.

As soon as the bell rings, I scoot my butt out of there. Art class next. If Sam is anything to go by, maybe this won't be so bad.

Strike that. It's gonna be hell and I know it ahead of time, so things are going to be planned extra badly.

First, when I sit down, I hear a slight 'splat'. I look down, and double take. I swear that jello has it out for me. How it got from Mr. Lancer's room to my seat is as of now unknown. Something tells me I'd rather not know anyway,

Well. I've got jello on my pants. Great. Jello stains never come out.

I sigh, before sitting down and moping the loss of my jeans. Yes, I have a dozen of them, but these were old. They had all the old stains, cuts, and nicks from over the years. There's still the yellow stain from that accursed mustard incident, and the red one from the food fight, and the green one from- You know what, maybe it is better I finally throw away these pants. They've turned into a stain rainbow and are really pieces of junk. A quick memory of a snipping reminded me that I got them from some garage sale a plumbers was having anyway. Lord knows what in the heck spilled on them.

I look around, and see that everyone's looking forward, the teacher has arrived. The best way to describe her was that she looked like she was straight out of those old black and white cartoons where everyone has noodle arms and legs and is bouncing. She reminded me faintly of that old sailor's girlfriend. What was her name again, Orange Juice, no no; Vinegar, nah; Olive Oil? Yeah, that's the one!

Well, at least we're working today. She wants a nature scene, okay. I grab a green brush and began the makings of a shrubbery, but my hand goes invisible and the brush falls right through my hand, leaving a nice green dagger piercing my shrub. I sigh, and the teacher comes by.

"Fenton, what is this?" she asks. Well, it started as a shrubbery, but I'm afraid that title has been lost. I tell her that I was trying to make a bush, but that my hand slipped. She clicked her tongue, damn it, can everyone besides me do that!

"So you require a shrubbery?" she asks. Yes, I require a shrubbery. I sort of established that when I tried to make one, thank you.

I nod at her, and she pats my shoulder. I killed a bush, what's the big deal?

"In art there are no mistakes, only changes our imagination commands. I look forward to seeing your work, Danny." she tells me, before heading off. So, according to her, my imagination is rebelling by putting a stake through my poor shrub's heart. Somehow I doubt that, and I think it was who ever's up there getting a kick out of my misery.

Well, I finished my shrub, and began making a river which looked a lot more like a blue snake having a seizure. The bell rang, and I packed up my stuff and headed to lunch. Nothing bad can happen at lunch, right? ...Don't answer that.

I sit down by Sam, Tucker coming from somewhere. I'm about to get up to buy lunch, since a certain gelatin based occurrence ruined the one I brought, when something grabs me by the back of my neck. Either karma took a solid form and decided to prove my theory, or I have an angry quarterback holding me for ransom.

One call of 'Fenton!' quickly solved that dilemma. I ask Dash what he wants, and, he bellows for my lunch money. Wait a second, I may have a way out of this. Let's hear it for TV!

I ask for him to set me down so I can get it, and take it out of my pocket. He then asks me to hand it over, and I set my plan in action. For all rights, purposes, etc, I'm in parentheses, and Dash is in, well, Dashes. I'm not that creative.

(what do you want, Dash?)

-Give me your lunch money-

(But I already payed you)

-no you haven't-

(Yes I have)

-If you didn't pay me, what's the money in your hand?-

brought extra)

-Just give it Fenton-

(but I already payed you.)

-I don't care. Give me your money.-

...and thus ended my trust in Monty Python to allow me to escape from Dash. Well ,for now at least. It'll all come back as soon as I hear the Spam song.

At that moment, Dash lost his temper and nailed me square on the nose. I flew back and nailed the wall. Oh sure, I lose my jello cup to it, but when it'll help, does it work? No... I land on the water fountain, banging my head on the box. Wonderful.

Well, at least I got to go home early from whiplash. No more school today! Good thing too, from what I hear the science teacher is hell and I have Lancer for History. How many classes does that man teach?

So I go home with a mountain of ice packs in my parent's glowing green RV. Great first day.

The only reason I don't jump out the window now is because I know that, either way I cut it, karma's gonna have it in for me even worse tomorrow.

Oh wait, I love this song! I'm a lumber Jack and I'm okay, I sleep all night and I work-the radio broke. That is the final cherry. As soon as I'm 18 I'm moving to some Amish village in the middle of no where and milking cows all day.


	3. Now for Something Completely Different

Now for something completely different! While coming up with the next installment of Phantom Funnies I figured, hey, why not do a Phantom-Python song spoof? There will be no set pattern to these, just when I'm bored.

Anyway, with out further ado, I bring you, The Danny Phantom Song!

(Danny is bold, Sam and Tuck are italic)

--------------

**I'm Danny Phantom and I'm okay!**

**I punch and kick those ghosts all day!**

_He's Danny Phantom and he's okay!_

_He punches and kicks those ghosts all day!_

**I hate Lancer, got hit by Dash,**

**I go to the broom cupboard!**

**On Fridays I play Doomed III and fight with Skulker!**

_He hates Lancer, gets hit by Dash,_

_he goes to the broom cupboard_

_On Fridays he plays Doomed III, and fights with Skulker!_

_He's Danny Phantom and he's okay!_

_He punches and kicks those ghosts all day!_

**I jump and dodge, I blast and yell,**

**I'd like to kill Bearbert!**

**I turn invisible and watch the girl's lockers!**

_He jumps and dodges, he blasts and yells,_

_He'd like to kill Bearbert!_

_He turns invisible and watches the girl's lockers !_

_He's Danny Phantom and he's okay!_

_he punches and kicks those ghosts all day!_

**I scream and yelp, I wear a belt,**

**gloves and black hazmat!**

**My parents want to kill me, and tear me apart!**

_He screams and yelps, he wears a belt !_

_gloves and black... hazmat !_

**My parents want to kill me, and tear me apart!**


	4. The boy who does chores! Chores!

WARNING! WARNING! INCLUDES SCENES INVOLVING JACK FENTON'S BACKHAIR! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Chores Chores Chores, Choresity Chores!

Part One

"What do you mean the trashcan exploded?"

Well, I'm back from school and my lovely encounter involving Dash, a water fountain, and my head. You know, I swear the bruise looks a little like Wisconsin... Maybe it's an omen I'm going to Wisconsin at some point. Maybe we can visit that rich dude that lives over there dad refers to as 'Vladdie'. The poor, poor soul.

Well, I'm stuck here, couch ridden. I wish I had control of my powers enough to give Dash an ectoplasmic wedgie. See how long it takes him to get it off his block head. I'd pay to see that, along with 99 of the school.

At least I get to spend the day on my aching tush, watching Spaceballs. That'd be good to do to Dash to, give him the old Darth-Helmet-shwartz ring treatment. Sam doesn't like the movie because they talk about the princess being a 'Drewish princess'. So it sounds like Jewish, big whoop. People make Christian jokes all the time and you don't see me up in arms.

Of course, a perfect day is ruined by the bear I call a father. Or rather, the bear trying to fit in with humans. Or a guy who has the size, strength, gracefulness, and attention span of a bear. The few times I saw under that jumpsuits scarred me for life. Let's just say that dad's metabolism is slower than his reaction time.

He barrels in, sees me, and asks if I cut school. Oh yes. If I cut school I'd hide out in my home with my loony bin father, obsessive mother, and teacher's pet sister. They'd never rat me out, oh no.

I tell him I got bullied, and guess what he says? He tells me that I need to build up some muscle and sends me to do my chores. Yep, that's right. I nearly crack my skull in half and dad wants me to do chores. Tell me again how I am related to this person? As Shakespeare once wrote, _"What fools these mortals be!"_ I read it somewhere. Don't ask.

He then leaves the house, saying something about needing to get the car fixed after trying to use refined ectoplasm as an alternate fuel source. If it ever worked, I am not about to donate. Get it out of the box ghost or something...

_So..._ My plans tarnished, I up myself to get this fun event over with. I venture into the kitchen, heeding to veer away from the refrigerator. I swear I can still hear the barking from the Frankendogs. No need to give them a reason to tear into my skin. Next to the phone is the chore list.

Of course, because dad, no matter how nuts he is will always be the master of guilt trips, managed to shove his chores onto me. I _really_ don't want to clean the lab. The last time I went down there, will, you know what happened. I got zapped into some half dead freak. I'd rather not grow a third arm or something. Firstly because people would notice that Danny Phantom and Danny Fenton both mysteriously grew a third arm at the same time and might make the connection, and secondly, because I REALLY DON'T WANT ANY MORE REASONS FOR DASH TO USE MY HEAD AS A FOOTBALL!

Sorry, Fenton moment. Ranting rears its ugly genetic head again. Worst part is, it doesn't help my witty banter. I swear I spend hours trying to think up quips. It sort of loses the purpose when you actually prepare them ahead of time, but nobody knows that. and if you say a word I will send you into the portal and use the Fenton bazooka's auto target on your ass.

Well, trash first. At least this time it isn't toxic waste. I had a one chair perimeter around me for a month until the FBI labeled me as non hazardous material after the time they made me get rid of the lab waste. I've shirked coming within five feet of glowing liquid in their ever since. At least, when I could avoid it.

Anyway, I grab the trash bag and head out for the door. As was as predictable as Tucker's PDA being confiscated for use in the classroom, my arm, along with the trash bag, went intangible and left a nice mess all over the living room.

Now, one must ponder what one did to cause such things to happen. Maybe me first sentence was '&# god' or something. My parents told me my first sentence was when I yelled 'Vlad is ghost, Vlad ghost get cat!' while 'Vladdie' was visiting, but I doubt it. Apparently, this 'Vladdie' person fainted when I said it. Funny, really. No idea why he would have fainted.

So, now the problem of picking up this mess. I'm hoping my parents invented the 'Fenton vacuum cleaner', but I doubt it. I look around, and low and behold, the Fenton vacuum Cleaner! Or at least I think it is, it says 'Fenton Extractor' on it. Maybe better safe than sorry, no use tempting the fates...

Yeah. I'll be better blasting them away with one of the lasers. Maybe trigger happiness is genetic too. I grab an ecto-gun from the kitchen cupboard (don't ask), and start vaporising the trash. It works pretty well, until I blast a box of Chinese food. BLAM! Raining noodles.

Now I have a noodle encrusted living room. Swell. Wonderful. Zap. Noodles go by by. I hope I can convince mom the singed soy sauce stains are from some garbage grubbing ghost that found its way in here. I could always shove it on that box ghost fellow throwing the Chinese food box. He'd probably do it, too, he shows up every where. Really, it's formed into a case of zap-and-go with that guy. Never, never gives up.

So, I finish zapping away the trash. Next up is cleaning my room. Joy to the world. Do parents ever get the idea I might _want_ my room to be a pig sty? It makes it comfortable. Jazz's room is so sterile I swear Tucker starts yelling about hospitals whenever he goes in there. Well, maybe some day Jazz can get him over his fear of hospitals. You know, before some girl back hands him so bad he goes there and they have to strap him down for an IV. Yet another thing I would pay to see. I'll have to start saving for when I do find a wish granter, I have a lot of things I want. For instance, to not be some FREAK OF NATURE HYBRID!... Fenton moment.

I come up the stairs, and see the sea of clothes and trash I call home. I don't care what mom says, these pieces of trash hold memories. Like this fry bag reminds me of when a fry shot out Tucker's nose the first time he saw Paulina.

I would go to a greater depth about her, but I have an inkling Sam can read my mind, so I'm not going to chance it. I've known her long enough to say that her shoes hit like a rock and that I'd rather not have certain areas faced with those steel toed boots... Happened once and I couldn't talk normally for four days.

There's also the gum wrapper, which reminds me of the time I got my bubble gum bubble stuck in Tucker's hair and it had to be shaved. You know, it never did grow back.

Then there's the soda can, which reminds me of the time Tucker- Woah. I just realized that I associate all food trash with Tucker. That's a new one. I wonder why. Maybe something food based is coming. Like some ghost girl who explodes ketchup or a cafeteria lady gone insane or something. Where do I come up with this stuff? Oh yes, I'll get caught in some fiery explosion of condiments and then get attacked by some fast food monster. Yeah, right. There's about as much possibility of that as Paulina liking Danny Phantom. Oh, and let's throw in Jazz finding out about me too.

Oh, crap, I'm giving them ideas again! NO! Get out of my head you odd manifestation of human morality and will for a better world! ...Where the heck did that come from?

In any event, I began to clean up, zapping the trash and putting away anything of worth. In other words, everything not covered in mold, mildew or something with more than four legs got chucked and everything thing else got stored in the closet until further notice.

Room's done, what next? Clean the downstairs bathroom. If there's one room that I hate to clean evenly comparably to the lab, it's the bathroom. No mortal being should have to reach inside of a toilet bowl. It is as close to Hell on Earth as I want to get.

So, I dawn the normal attire required for such a task. Acid resistant gloves, an eye guard and a hazardous waste suit. This is all normal for anyone wishing to come in contact with the results of dad after one of his fudge cravings. Ew...

I grab my almighty toilet brush, my disinfectant, and my blaster. I'd rather not find out if mom's cooking lives after being digested, thank you gross mental pictures incorporated.

I figure I'll start with the easiest and go from there. Ergo, wiping the mirrors first and the dreaded bowl last. I grab the cleaning spray and I wet a rag, before cleaning the dust off of the mirror. I have to get the corners or mom will flip, she has an unspoken pity for corners. I have no clue why, maybe she thinks they're sad because they never get cleaned or something...

Well, mirror done, sink next. I stick a Q-tip in the drain to get the dirt, when it won't go in. A clogged sink, fun, fun fun... I look in the sink and see something green and _glowing. _Why has everything suddenly started glowing?

Well, it is time for the greatest weapon in my arsenal, a weapon so powerful that few may control it... the plunger!

I grab the plunger and carefully put it over the sink, before starting the suction, ergo, jumping up and down on it. I start to jump, piston like an air pump. I check every half dozen strokes, and nothing is happening. Great, it's hardened... This calls for the ectoblaster.

I open the cupboard to get the ectogun, when I am confronted by several weapons. Which gun, which gun, which gun to destroy ectoplasm... I grab a small one and aim it at the glowing green gunk. One well aimed shot, and **_BOOM!_**

There goes the gunk, along with the sink. How, pray tell, will I explain this? I don't think the neighbors heard the crash, I hope. By now explosions are common place from the Fenton house. Not the best indicator, I swear, of we ever get new neighbors the entire block will have them convinced we're testing government bombs by the end of the first week.

Well, I can always blame a ghost, saying that it came up through the sewers and exploded out of the sink. They'd probably buy it too. That, or I could say that I nudged a Fenton Grenade accidentally and it nailed the sink... On second though, blame the ghost. What they don't know can't hurt them.

Well, next is the rugs, then the showers, then the dreaded portal to hell known as the toilet.

You may ask what's so bad about the rugs. One reason, ladies and gentlemen. The things my family hides under there. My parents are notorious pack rats, and will hide things so they escape Jazz on a cleaning spree. Under rugs, couch cushions, inside buckets, you name it.

I can't see anything obvious on top of the rug, but as Jazz puts it, 'You couldn't see anything in the tell-tale heart either'. I think all three of them are insane on some level. Who, pray tell, quotes dead guys that spent their time in a dark corner with their only companion being the little imaginary characters floating around in their heads.

I grab a corner, before ripping up the rug. Thankfully, the only thing there is a stain from some ectoplasm and some dust bunnies. They are soon taken care of, placed in a bucket that somehow appeared. I don't know how, I don't control this crazy world.

I set the rug down, before facing my second last challenge... Next up, the bathtub. This is second worst for one reason, which I will show you once I make sure it is safe. I look gingerly in, in case any goo traps got set up. I wouldn't put it past them, not by a long, LONG shot.

I see nothing. I pull back the curtain, and see nothing out of the ordinary, except a rubber ghost taking the place of a rubber duck. I pull something out from behind me, yanking out a piece of steel wool. Yes, steel wool. you have any idea how dad's back hair _sets _when it gets cut? What did you think that black ring around the sink was? Sadly, it was overlooked so long it became permanent.

So, I take the steel wool to the ring. You can tell that it's the end of Summer, dad's hair follicles are in hyper drive, which lots of scraping fun for me. You always hear jokes about shaving your dad's back hair, try trying to get it off the bath tub.

In fact, thanks to the expanse of experimental soap dad's using, it becomes apparent I will require other means when the steel wool starts turning into filings. Well, I guess it's time to break out the chisel. That's right, chisel. I kid you not, those are the lengths we have to use during September regarding dad's back hair.

I get it out from the bag of cleaning supplies, and begin to chip off the hair ring. To hell with the paint, just get off the damn hair! Of course, because my life is every so much fun, I eventually _breath_ in a hair. Not pleasant.

For reference to anyone who has never been in the predicament, having a harder-than-concrete back hair jammed up your nose is not fun. It burns, tickles, and stabs you all at once. Like something sticking electricity through a pipe cleaner and jamming it up there.

Of course, being the kid I am, at this point I fall in the tub, right in the mound of hair in the center. Great, now I'm being stabbed, and I'm laying in a pile of hair. Isn't life, my life in particular, fun? Dear lord, it itches!

I jump out of the tub, and try to get the hair off of me. However, it sticks, like thousands of little pieces of velcro. I had decided to be smart and forget the face mask, and now I was paying for it. Do I even need to say it? Someone upstairs has it in for me. There, I said it again...

I get up, now covered in so much black hair I look like cousin it gone Goth. Sam would be proud. Worst part is, I'm not done. There is still the funnel into the unknown. Only dad uses this toilet, and for good reason. There has been known to be a methane build up in it for years, and dad's the only one who's so big it doesn't affect them.

However, I am scrawny. That gas will get to me before long, I'm cutting it as it stands. Thus, we made the Fenton face mask. A face mask, with the word Fenton in front of it! ...Oh dear god I'm turning into dad! NO!

...Okay, I think I gathered myself. The idea of even being related to dad scares me, but I am never turning into him. Never! -Why do I suddenly feel like I'm having a serious case of deja vu?

Well, I guess it is time for my funeral. I lived a good, long, happy life, and I accomplished... nothing. Okay, really my life has been crap lately, but it wasn't so bad for a few years. I may not remember those years because they were before I was acquainted with the social pyramid and Dash's fist, but still, I guess they were good. I wouldn't know past the concussions the populars gave me that happened when I 'fell down the stairs', but still. I just wish I didn't have to perish from toxic fumes at the age of fourteen. I'm already half dead, so I wonder if this'll make me one and a half times dead... Or if I'll still have that sweet jumpsuit when I pass on.

Suddenly, a song starts playing in my head. I heard it once, and it takes a while to make out, but there it is.

'...and we will all go together when we go, what a comforting fact that is to know. Universal bereavement, it will be a great achievement! Yes, we will all go together when we go!

We will all go together when we go, all suffused with an incandescent glow, no one will have the endurance, to collect on his insurance, Lloyd's of London will be loaded when we go."

I cut it off there, Tom Lehrer is not exactly my favorite musician. Poisoning Pigeons in the Park was pretty good, though. 'The birdies may all try and hide, but they still go for peanuts dipped in cyanide...' I'm done now.

I gulp, I guess I'll have to find out eventually, and it looks like now. I approach the bowl, looking down. It is a murky yellow, with a brown ring of lord knows what. I would puke right now, but that means getting closer to the fumes.

I grab the industrial size toilet brush, and begin scrubbing. Oh dear lord this is sick and wrong, make dad do this. I have been scarred for life already, let me go in peace! If any of you have any morals you'll let me go!

As if in answer, the toilet seat came down and broke off the toilet brush head, and that happens to have been the last brush. You know that that means, right? I'm going fishing for a toilet brush in a biohazardous pool of water.

Who ever's up there has a sick, sick sense of humor. For all I know this will burn the skin off my bones. I can't seriously do this. I rack my mind for something, anything that I could use to not have to touch that chemical soup... Of course. One item comes to mind, and I rejoice. Pliers!

I can stick them in the bowl and use it to retrieve the brush! Genius, pure genius! I search the tool bucket, and I find tweezers. It'll do, I hope. Now the problem of actually getting the brush. It can't be that hard... Right, keep on telling yourself that, Mr.-Half-way dead-punching-big-of-karma...

I look in the bowl, it is pretty much on the side. Throwing chance the winds, I grab the head and try to yank it out. However, much like in those rigged crane games, it won't stay, the tweezers can't grip it. I try again, but the thing's too damn slippery.

I hiss, before finally stabbing at the dang thing. And for once, brute force won out, and it stuck. I grabbed it and was lowering it to the trashcan... When it fell off. Right on my gloved arm. Thank goodness it was gloved. However, a strange scent filled the air... In a minute, I recognized it as burning rubber.

I always knew this would happen! I always knew dad would be the death of me in some form, but I didn't count on it being from his toilet water! I guess that's why my parents never let me get a dog. I yank off the glove, which is now burning through. The floor should be able to handle it. I hope. I wouldn't count on it, but there has top be some measure around that accursed acid bank.

I run out of the bathroom just in case, before checking my arm. It doesn't look harmed, I guess it was a small miracle the liquid didn't eat through quick enough to get me. Still, I need to give dad a serious talking to regarding his diet... and what could be next? Something bad is brewing if I escaped without relative injury. It is at this point I remember that I'm covered in dad's hair, great. Let's hope I can get it off before my parents start blasting my ass off. What's next on my chore list?

XXX

Yes, I realize this isn't done. That's because this is horribly long, and would take a heck of a long time to finish if I were to submit it as one piece. Sorry about the wait, Summer School's killing my brain cells...


	5. Danny on Sugar High, Lord help us

SO SORRY for the long wait, my muse is telling me to right mystery/suspense. Great for Timeless and a couple crossovers I never made public, but not great for anything else. Sorry.

_-this is out of the time line. COMPETELY RANDOM. I repeat._

_-COMPLETELY RANDOM. In more ways than one.-_

_-Danny has all the info he currently has in the show, not like the other chapters.-_

_-I told you, this is when inspiration hits.-_

-----

-Disney's Addiction to PB&C!-

"I can fry your ass in half a dozen different ways. HAND OVER THE CHOCOLATE."

It's a normal day, and I'm sitting on my bed, listening to my MP3 player. Little figures run around in my head, singing the songs horribly and then getting hit by a mallet. I'm fourteen, I like destruction, pain, and big bombs. As the mythbusters put it, "Danny wants a big boom."

I'm listening to Tumbling Dice by Linda Rondstat whenI hear someone walking in the hall. I put down my MP3 and look, mom's bringing up a big bowl of something brown... brown, not good. I can already see brown chunks in it, YECH! I'm losing my appetite already... Hey wait, is that a piece of- Holy crud! REESES ICE CREAM!

In case none of you know, I am heavily addicted to Reeses. I adore Reeses. Reeses are my coffee. I have sneak Reeses from the cupboard on a bi-weekly basis! I once ate one of those jumbo size ten cup Reeses between commercial breaks while watching Nickleodeon, and you know how often those come. Dang money grubbing producers, I swear, sometimes there's more commercials than there is show.

I pick up the spoon, staring hungrily at what awaits me. Four scoops of choclate and peanut butter bliss. Of course, along with Reeses comes a mad sugar rush. When I say mad, I mean 'make Monty Python look like your school principle' mad. I know I'll be diabetic some day from this,but until then, REESES REIGN SUPREME! The key part of my sugar infused diet!

Let me introduce where my love of the succulent Peanut butter and chocolate came from. I was trick or treating with Sam and Tucker (this is the year we dressed up as super heroes), and Sam's mom wouldn't let her have chocolate. Something about a dentist appointment the next day.

Poor girl, it should be illegal to take away a kid's Halloween chocolate. You don't see us taking the adult's tax refunds! We work year round to brush our teeth in anticipation of joining cavities in the war on shiny teeth, and we deserve our independence day from the fluoride menace!

In any case, I got them, and ate one of the small, innocent, yellow wrapped peanut butter and chocolate bites. I was hooked, and ate the rest before I even got home. The Smiths never did find out why there was half a bug full of Reeses wrappers in their trash can...

Anyway, from that moment on, Reeses have been my food of choice. No cup is safe from the gnashing teeth of Danny Fenton! Never again!

Back in our time, mom just left the Reeses ice cream on my bed, telling me to chew. Yeah, right. A, how do you chew ice cream, and B, IT'S REESES! How can you stand to not eat it all at once? Every second it is not filling my mouth is a second lost!

I eat the bowl full, all four scoop and the three inches of whip cream on top, complete with five cherries. Talk about a sweet tooth, I know, I know... Suddenly, everything looks a little blurry. I have a horrible headache. However, I don't care. In fact, I get the random urge to start singing rock and roll.

So, I do. I grab my MP3player and start singing along. The first song is Don't Bring me down, so I hook a picture of Vlad up to the wall and start throwing darts at it while singing/yelling/making everyone in the tri-city area go temporarily deaf.

Right in the nose, haza! A dart up Vlad's nose, what fun that'd be! Maybe a poison dart or, covered in chloroform so I can take him out, muahaha! I start dancing around my room, singing "I'll tell you once more before I get off the floor-DON'T BRING ME DOWN!'

Of course, whenever the song says 'floor', I fall on the floor and point at the ceiling. Yes, Danny Fenton is officially on sugar high. ALLELUAH! THE HEAVENS OPEN AND THE ANGELS SING! I start stomping my fists and feet on the ground in tune to the music, the sound booming through the house.

My parents have gotten used to this, so they do nothing as I start belting out ELO while thumping on the floor. So are the actions of a fourteen year old super hero who just ate approximately 57 grams of sugar in under ten minutes. You have to love the fact my parents never make the connection between sugar and odd behavior. Or Danny Fenton and Phantom.

You know, thinking about it in a totally different mindset, I can't believe how obvious I made that. Thank goodness the radiation from the lab dropped everyone's IQ by twenty points. Except my sister, I think she's a brain sucking alien from another planet sent here to torture me by throwing psychology at my face and stopping me from doing anything 'dangerous'. A new wave comes, and I forget what i was just thinking.

I suddenly jump up and, tongue sticking out my mouth, do some bizarre mix of disco and oldies rock. Like the Beetles, except with a proper hair cut. I like their music, but that hair really needs a a vacation... Speaking of Beetles, I stick up my hands and do the peace symbol, singing now singing 'Bang a Gong' and doing jazz hands while still using the peace symbol. That is what Reeses do to me. Of course, at this moment, Sam comes in and watches me doing an air guitar. She watches for a moment, before joining in.

Yes, joining in, she's also doing air guitar while head banging nothing. However, she has no music. I think. Maybe we do have a mental connection, like everyone says. Everyone is convinced there is some mental connection between her, Tucker's, and my mind. I always thought we just thought alike, but maybe not...

I wonder what it would look solid, make strung out bubble gum, or a phone cord... Yes, I really am sugar high. However, I manage to look, and see she also has her MP3 on, great. Sam and I have the same songs, so we always know what the other's doing. well, most of the songs, she has 'The Rose', which I will NEVER listen to, and I have a song of my own she detests beyond belief. Her loss.

I listen to the MP3 click, and change files. Next up is the comedy section. Not many songs, but they're all great, especially on a peanut butter induced sugar high. Monty Python, Tom Lehrer, old fifties cartoon themes... all the stuff kids listen to and make fun of behind their parents backs. First up, 'We Will All Go Together When We Go." Yay, we're all going to get blown up by a bomb! Haza!

I loom toward Sam, who nods, and synchronizes her MP3 so we're on the same time table. Sam and I start saying the lyrics and tune, known by heart. We were bored during spring break and took the time to memorize our favorite songs.

The music starts, and we begin to gesture to each other as the sing goes along. This song was simply not made for standing still, it has too much energy... like I do. Thank you candy gods!

"When you attend funeral, it is sad think that sooner or-later, all you love will do the same, for you." we chant, pointing to each other while poking where our hearts are. We raise our eyes and arms, like you do when you see something you want.

"and you may have thought it tragic, not to mention other adjec-tives to think of all the weeping they will do, but don't you worry..."we join in, waving our fingers at the end like you do while saying 'on the contrary' or otherwise debating. We have this song down pat, so really, we can do all the movements together, sane or not.

"No more ashes no more sack cloth, and an armband made of black, will some day never more adorn a sleeve-" we throw up our hands, yelling really loudly. We hook our arms and start running in a circle. I'll bet you anything she's sugar high too, she never touches someone while dancing. It just doesn't happen. Never going to after this, neither.

"for if the bomb that drops on you, gets your friends and neighbors too, there'll be nobody left behind to grieve-" we say while before our hands around like gesturing to everything, and waving them around like a windmill. We hit each other and fall on our behinds, landing on the floor. We get up giggling, and start singing again. Reeses can do cruel things to you.

"and we will all go together when we go!

what a comforting fact that is to know!

Universal bereavement, an inspiring achievement

Yes we all will go together when we go!"

We sing horribly off key, throwing ourselves like a person does into a mosh pit onto my bed, both with wide eyes and our tongues sticking out.

I'll stop writing lyrics. Probably ticking you off behind that screen, anyway. You can look the lyrics up, why would you want me to tell them to you while I'm dancing with my best friend? I probably got some of the words wrong anyway, I can't spell for garbage. Especially not after anything Reeses related.

Anyway, we went on like that for all 3:29 of it. Tom Lehrer sings can do that to you. So nuts they make nuts people feel not nuts and do doubly nuts things. I just confused myself beyond reason, so carry on, carry on. Don't mind the twitching youth in front of you. He won't bite. unless you happen to be made of Reeses peanut butter. Then all bets are off.

Suddenly, I hear scuffling emanating from the corner of the room. Emanating? I should have Reeses before my next vocabulary test, maybe I'll finally pass! Yes, these things do have a positive side besides bliss!

Still sugar high, I start clapping along with the scracthing. Stupid, stupid me. You never clap along to the mysterious scuffling, you head toward it and scream your ass off when you find out what it is! It's tradition and necessary for the universe to continue as we know it! The cliches are what keep the world together,like duct tape!

Realizing my mistake, I hastily run over and jump at the corner where the scuffling is coming from. I see nothing, and tap my foot for no reason. Then, I look down and see a mouse. Of course, taking the sign from above as my cue, I start yelling, "MOUSE! MOUSE! GET IT AWAY!" while blasting at it with my ghostray. Sam is definitely sugar high, she's not stopping me!

I miss, and the mouse starts approaching me, before jumping onto my leg. I can't help it, I scream louder. As if wanting to torture me, which I wouldn't doubt, it digs into my pants. I yelp, and it starts climbing _up _my leg. I start screaming, but my parents think I'm singing to a song. You have to love attentive parenting.

Probably the only reason they haven't figured out I've been half way dead for over half a year... Once again. Danny Fenton, Danny Phantom? I disappear when he comes, and he disappears when I come back? The guy I look exactly like except with black hair and blue eyes instead of white and green? The guy who came when I got zapped by so much electricity it _should_ have killed me?

Moving on, the mouse now begins to crawl up my pants lef, rising. I shake them, but it holds on, scratching at my poor leggies. Yes, leggies. I'M SUGAR HIGH FOR PETE'S SAKE! WHAT MORE CAN YOU EXPECT!

Losing all logic, I start hitting my leg against the table. Sam is listening to her MP3 really loud and doesn't notice a thing. Great, she'll go deaf if she keeps that up. I wonder what it'd be like with same being deaf... Probably a world of hurt for us if she can't lip read. Who knows what she could get out of my mouth if she reads it wrong...

A bruise now forming on my shin, I give up and have a revelation-pull up my pants leg! Then I can find the critter and flick it off to kingdom come! I fold it up, and see the little critter doing something... Aw great, it wizzed on my leg! ACK! I know a mouse is constantly doing _that_, but still, gross!

I flick the little creature off to zap later. It'll be a deep fried mouse burger by the time I'm done, no animal leaves it's waste on Danny Fenton and gets away with it! However, that is for later.

I run to get a towel to wipe up the mouse... drippings. I start rubbing, but the smell won't go away! I try to scrub it off with soap, but no dice. My sugar starting to drain, my headache comes back... With a vengeance. Owe! Ow! I think I'm being split open! It feels like I got caught in the Fenton portal all over again! WHY, REESES, HAVE YOU BETRAYED ME! I gave you what you wanted, why do you forsake my love of you and exploit it!

Well, I can't talk, I do the same thing to Tucker... But still! That's different! Somehow, it is completely different and I am in no way a hypocrite! Hypocrite? I'm turning into Jazz! LORD HELP ME!

I start running in circles, as if that will make the pain stop, and rid my poor, poor head of the thought of becoming Jazz. She isn't human I tell you! SHE'S NOT HUMAN! Okay, So the sugar isn't _completely _out of my system yet...

I run around for a long time, before I finally run out of energy and pass out on the sink. I see my reflection, and the last thought that came to mind was, "What the heck? Where'd that green swirly stuff come from?"...I later found out it was tooth paste I smeared on the mirror while running around, so don't bother asking.

--

When I wake up, I'm sitting in my bed, with 'poisoning pigeons in the park' playing. This is the only song Sam doesn't have on her MP3 that I do, she hates that I listen to it. Her loss, it's catchy!

I look around the room, seeing my mom in the hallway. I call out, and she comes in with the mom's special- chicken soup and orange juice. One thing normal about her...

She tells me how glad she is I'm okay, and then speaks the most unspeakable word in the world. NO REESES.

At once, I pass out again, moaning, "no, Reeses, come back..."

----

In dedication to my addiction to Reeses. They are really my inspiration for writing random things, along with Star Bucks. With out them, this fic would not have been. So say thanks to the peanut butter cuplets!

Also, the songs listed are all on my MP3 player. Yay!


	6. Halloween Horrors

Sorry about the long wait, Summer School is KILLING me with a rusty dagger covered in acid then heated with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. Thankfully, it is over tomorrow. However, I won't be able to do anything next week, I'm going to Florida.

That, and my mind's bent in a pretzel because I'm damn sure I saw somebody who works on DP on Saturday. At least, it was the guy who's laughing in that video Nick put up of them voice acting Reality Trip.

Sadly, I'm probably going to discontinue Timeless. Partly because it DIED, partly because the scraps I had left got deleted by my computer, which has been having tantrums lately. I could try, but it died on me.

Anyway, Reviews Replies:

Me The Anon One: Ack, damn my misspelling. Yes, it was warped. Just like my little mind. Hehe, just like my own little mind, savaged by crossovers and pirates...

abcdef... Okay, I'm not even gonna try : YES! BEHOLD THE REESESITY GOODNESS! ...Scary thing is, my spell checker, which is convinced 'frappucino' isn't a word, says reesesity is one.

Esme Kali Phantom: Yeah, sugar highs are fun. One time my mom packed me this frappucino for lunch. I was SO DAMN BUZZED. I was literally like Sokka from that episode of avatar where they're stuck in the Desert (the episode: the desert. Creative, no?)

A direct quote of me: I am HYPER HAMMY! THE HAMSTERS WILL ATTACK AT DAWN, AND I AM THEIR QUEEN! BOW BEFORE ME DAMN IT! ...I like pointy things...

...Yeah, my science teacher flipped out on me next period when I was grinning the whole time.

As for the MP3 thing, my dad just put on whatever junk he listens to, and it's the only music I ever hear. The synchronizing MP3 thing was really random, and I was, in fact, on a Peanut-drumstick induced sugar rush at the time.

Free Dan Phantom: I'll try, I recorded it on my Tivo. In the mean time I've got plenty more hatched up. Crossovers galore, I say!

Ghostboy814: Yes, yes they are. Speak it brother! Don't let the man keep you down!

Andrew Laplante: Thanks, I try. I couldn't leave the punching bag thing out, I just couldn't. As for the Reeses thing... Let me put it this way. See the Response to Esma Kali Phantom? His sugar high thing is based of me when I had that frappucino. Really. Also, I have been known to eat up to ten of those miniature Reeses buckets in any one day where they were handy.

Cheesebot12: My parents look at me funny when I roll from reading it repeatedly while I go over it for grammar and spelling. One time my mom asked, "Honey, did you have Reeses today?". Guess which chapter I was writing.

--------Anyway, ahem, here is the story!-------

The Horrific, Bloodcurdling, Traumatizing, Very scary Halloween

It's Halloween in Amity Park, and Tucker convinced me to go trick or treating. He told me he'd give me all his Reeses for doing it, damn my weakness for those little buckets of chocolaty goodness... Why do they betray me!

Anyway, Sam's coming too, because of majority vote. Let's hear it for being able to make choices in our insignificant, meaningless lives! Woot woot!... Sam tells me we're all gonna die anyway, so that sort of lost it's optimism fast.

...Ahem. So, the time comes for costumes. Tucker's the robot from Flash Gordon (I'm not specifying because they're all alike-cardboard with painted buttons, randomly blinking light bulbs, and sparklers shoved up their ass). Sam is going as some witch... vampire... sorceress... _thing._ She has a shredded black cape, leotard, fangs and red contacts, that's all I know.

I am going as- DUN DUN! Danny Phantom. Yes, I'm cosplaying as myself, live with it Earth monkeys!... I have got to stop letting Sam bring me to those Invader-Zim-athons. They're soiling my poor mind worse than that time I got a hold of the Monty Python script for a book report.

My parents, as always, are toting around massive elephant guns to blast my hide off. Or vaporise me. Or tear me apart molecule by molecule. I can only hope my parents don't figure out it's not just a costume.

Anyway, we start off. The first thing I notice- there's like a billion Danny Phantoms walking around! I swear, half the population is going as me. It's like, walking in a house of mirrors where I'm covered in zits and bad haircuts.

Traumatic doppelgangers aside, nobody will ever think I'm the real Phantom. Thank the almighty... WAIT! DON'T! HE'LL COME FOR ME! SOMEBODY HELP!...

Yah. I'm going insane. Hurray for me, an insane super hero on Halloween. Somehow this seems familiar... Oh yeah, The Nightmare Before Christmas! That skeleton dude!

(cough) So... We begin our night of terror. and horror. and other other things best not discussed in the vicinity of three fairly attractive orphans in a series of Unfortunate Events caused by an unscrupulous guardian... Mr. Lancer's getting to me. That or the guy that looks like a bird that got his face shoved in my dad's toilet. Now wait, scratch that, he still has skin.

We go to the next house, and get, not candy, but granola bars. Gran-freakin'-ola bars. I forgot I live in the health food district, thank you parents working for the guys in white. You ever notice how they houses in the health district are always cheaper? It's because kids avoid them! The insurance companies pay them to give out granola! I tell you, IT'S A CONSPIRACY!

-Let's forget that ever happened, shall we? Yes yes, very good, very good. It is better for everybody that way. Jolly good for me- and you, of course, I'd never forget my adoring fan--!... It's Jerry, right? Or was it Larry... Here, take the bribe and go. Now.

So, we high tail it out of the health food district and go to the good houses. As in, the houses that don't give me fruit, or granola, or health insurance coupons!--It's a long story. Don't ask. Please, don't. I'm still mentally scarred from the smiley faces...

We scoot/skedaddle/ whatever the heck you want to call it over to a house. We ring the door bell and am greeted with the snarling face of... Dash. You thought it was Valerie come to shoot me, didn't you? HAHA! I got you!

He grunted and threw a candy bar at each of us, mine going _through me _and onto the floorWay to go, genius. Nobody will ever figure out you're a ghost if stuff goes through you. He looks at me funny, and I say, "Erm, it's holographic?" while grinning like the lying idiot I am. However, Dash is even more of an idiot, so he shrugs and leaves.

I sigh in relief before continuing on. Next house, same thing, except there isn't a furless gorilla snarling at the door. Instead there were other snooty rich people who would sooner step on my head then give me the time. They throw candy out a window and shove the door in our face. Well, they were _nice._

Finally, we come to an apartment. Three guesses who opens the door screaming 'THERE YOU ARE!' with her ectogun blazing. No, it's not mom. She hasn't reached shooting random kids in the face yet. Dad, though... A scream and flash in the background tell the tale a lot better than I could and will.

"No Valerie, it's me, Danny! We're trick or treating!" I screech as a monster gun with a barrel the size of my head looks me dead on. How she can even lift the damn thing is a mystery to me. I mean, it must weigh more than _she_ does, and while speeding at a good hundred miles an hour, without the G forces added in? It's against the bloody laws of _physics_. Then again, so am I... No time to ponder that, photosynthesis killed my brain bad enough. Plants makes sugar, that's all I need to know.

She lowers her gun, eyes still blazing, and throws it down. "Sorry, but you look just like him... Where'd you get the costume?" she asked suspiciously, eyebrows raised. How could I get out of this. I could say Sam stitched it up and did the make up, she's a master. Yes, let's go with that. Blame my best friend who will forgive me no matter what.

"Sam did it. Her parents made her stitch something or else they'd force her into pink for the next month. She's great with makeup too." I lie. Hey, it's better this way than her finding out that her schoolmate is the same guy she wants to mount the pelt of at the foot of her bed! ...Wait, that's Skulker. She'd probably want to do it too though, so I didn't make a mistake. I'm not wrong! I can't be wrong! (twitch).

"I guess that makes sense... Take your candy and go." she mutters, throwing a couple of Hershey's kisses over her shoulder. Of course, all three land in Tucker's bag, which,under oath, is out of bounds. Karma, why do you hate me?

I quickly stalk off into the night, making sure that Valerie is outside of shooting distance should she notice that I am, in fact, glowing. I'll blame it on glow in the dark paint, yeah.

So, we make it to a rich house- Paulina. Ten bucks says she's gonna glomp me. It's going to be a long night. So far the fangirls have stayed away, but not for long. Gulp.

I tentatively knock the door, wishing all the world that this was another house. Under the code of the trick or treating I can not leave any candy house untapped. It's, like, law or something. Same with having to have at least one candy bar before you get home, despite your parents warning of knives and razorblades hidden in caramel apples.

As expected, the moment she opens the door she jumps on me and screams. and screams. and screams. It's so shrill I swear it'd give dolphins a migraine. It'd wake the dead. It even puts Hillary Duff to shame, and that's saying something.

I barely manage to free myself while yelling "It's Danny Fenton, get off me!" before Sam gets a machete out of somewhere and holds it up to Paulina. Sam must have a hell of a lot of pockets, where else does she keep those thermoses?

Paulina stares for a moment before screaming bloody murder and flying into the house, calling, "EW! LOSER SWEAT!" Oh yeah. Even when I really am Phantom I'm a loser, great. You have to love these bipolar fangirls. You come as your superhero costume, they throw themselves at you. You come in your normal costume, and you're scum on the bottom of their shoe. Irony just loves me.

Alright then. Now, we go to the next house, where we see there is a party we didn't get invited too. Like that's anything new, I'm still some loser nobody with freak parents that belong in a mental institution, an overly protective teacher's pet of a sister, a girl obsessed techno geek best friend, and a Gothic Vegetarian for my other best friend. Geez, my life sucks doesn't it?

Anyway, case and point, we get thrown out and into the bushes, landing on our butts. I look into the bushes, where I find some nice little squirrels... Who try to bite my glowing head off. These must be the mutant squirrels that hung around Axion labs, Sam had this huge protest against the chemical waste the place is churning out. Really, if it makes _squirrels_ into carnivorous beasts out for my flesh, I agree with her.

A jerk out of the bushes and zap them with a tiny ectoblast, and the squirrels come out hissing. Yes, _hissing._ Like some deranged snake-rat hybrid that got stuck in a wall socket. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if that's what they started as. You know, Vlad's genetic mishaps and all of that. Speaking of which, I haven't seen Danielle in a while... Maybe she turned to goop.

I shouldn't think like that, you and I both know who's listening. I still wonder how a clone of me turned into a girl. You know, considering I'm a guy. Don't even get me started on the whole nursery thing, it was a mistake! A MISTAKE I SAY!

--I should talk to Jazz sometime, it'd do me some good. You know, psychological help. If I told it to anyone else my halfa status would be more public than the life of Ryan Seacrest. I think that's how you spell it, I don't watch American Idol. The singing gives me a migraine like you would not believe. I swear a few of them have been on tabs with Tucker, and that is _really _saying something.

Anyway, ghostly creations aside, I really need to find a way to get rid of these damn squirrels. Here are my options. A, shoot them and reveal my secret identity. Yeah right, I'll get carted off to the loony bin and get zapped and poked and cut to pieces. The things they might do to me if they ever caught me... Needles, needles, everywhere, and no painkiller in sight. There goes that.

B, run screaming and look like a total moron. That could work. Sure I'd be shunned by society, High school, and the human race, but I wouldn't get attacked by rabid squirrels. Would that really be worth it? Ah heck, I'm only a hair above the band geeks, I don't need a daily swirly. I'm still scarred from that incident with cleaning dad's bathroom, I think there's still a hole in the floor from that acidic waste.

C, snag a piece of meat from Tucker's bag, throw it, and hope to high heck they like it better then they do halfa. Tucker never goes anywhere without at least a few pieces of meat on him, it's his security blanket, like his PDA. If I could just throw it hard enough they may just decide to go after it instead of me.

With little better to do, I grab a rib from Tucker's bag and throw it off into the distance. The two squirrels look at each other and start chirping. I think it's chirping, anyway. A little hard to tell. Then, as if planned, one goes after the steak and the other goes for my throat faster than you can say 'what's it going to do, twitch it's nose at me!"

Now, you see, as odd as Amity Park is, it is not every day you see a kid trying to fight off a glowing squirrel. That's more of a biweekly occurrence. Anyway, people stop to gawk at me as I try to slap the squirrel away, repeatedly hitting myself in the process. By the time I finally hit the thing I've given myself a black eye and a bruise the size of Milwaukee.

The squirrel runs off to find it's buddy, who is currently ravaging the rib like a beaver does to wood. Well, more like a beaver mixed with a T-rex. Damn vicious things probably had ghost rabies, ack, I am so glad I'm only half ghost right then...

After a long, drawn out speech from Sam about cruelty to small carnivorous freakish genetic experiments sent by my Arch Enemy to slay me, we begin the trek back ward, toward home. I've had enough for the night, as have my strangled throat, clawed arms, and thrown-onto-butt. This night has _not_ been fun.

So... Random fangirl and animal attacks through, we see my house coming to view. That is, until my parents see me and get out the Fenton bazooka. No use trying to fight, I'm still some every day trick or treater, not a super hero, remember? Get it? Got it? Good. I only wish they'd figure that out. Heck, they don't even think I'm a super hero, they blast at me. If my dad could hit the broad side of a barn (which he can't, by the way. He overshot it by a good three feet) I'd probably have been ripped apart molecule by molecule several times over. Don't you just love parents?

"Mom, dad, it's me, Danny! Not Phantom, Danny Fenton! DON'T SHOOT ME!" I yelp as they scamper over. Well, not really scamper... More steamroll over every other being in the area, trip over a rock, kill themselves, the end. Oh wait, that's the dinosaur story Jazz used to tell me when I asked for a story! It's the shortest story in existence!

_Once Upon a time there was a dinosaur who lived in a house. One day he decided to go for a walk, tripped over a rock, and killed himself. The end._

...That's it. That's the dinosaur story. I used it for English class once and got a D. That's just how much my sister enjoys making up stories. She must steal those excuses she uses on mom and dad, she could never do them herself! IT'S A CONSPIRACY! A CONSPIRACY I SAY!

...You know what, forget it. I'll cut to the chase. They tripped over and landed on their faces, the Fenton bazooka hitting me clean in the face. Yep. Out of a hundred possible directions, it hits me right in the head. Don't you just love karma? I curse karma out, it throws stuff at me, I curse it out, it throws stuff at me... An endless cycle, really.

I fall backward as the aforementioned device topples over, landing on my already sore butt, my candy spilling all over. Great, even when they're convinced I'm not evil I still get hit by their damn weapons. Why is it that whenever some deity gets ticked off I'm the one who suffers for it? Who chose me to be the damn bearer of the world's mistakes?

...I'm turning into a goth, aren't I? I knew I shouldn't have let Sam drag me off to that goth poetry corner, that it'd come back to haunt me. I don't want to turn goth, I can't do black! Wait a second, I'm wearing black now... Ah, screw it, I'm going home.

As I stood to return to my beloved bed, mustard stains, ecto burns and all, I see something twittering on the ground I can barely make out, thank you city's budget on public lighting. Something furry taking a bar... No, my kit kat bar! Why do they insist on torturing me, the damn squirrels... Hey, give that back!

Of course, the final cherry of this wondrous night- one of those squirrels came out of nowhere and stole my kitkats, my Hershey's, and worst of all, my Reeses, while I was lying on the ground, chittered at me, and scrambled off. I would have eaten those Reeses too, they were still safely wrapped on the ground. I got attacked by my parents, Valerie, Paulina, and mutant squirrels, all in the same night. This night sucked.

--------

You probably want to know about the Health Insurance thing. I actually got a voucher for twenty dollars off Health Insurance once, it was a real life experience right there. Needless to say, I never used it,. I laughed about it good and hard afterward, though.. As for the dinosaur story... Replace 'Jazz' with 'author's dad' and you'll have it. Yeah, I know he's a lazy git. But that's why we get along so well.


	7. VOTE!

These are dribblets of fics that never made it. In honor of my 1500th hit, you guys choose!

Okay... Really it's because I can't choose myself. I'll use the votes in reviews from now until Sunday, okay? Good.

_**Random Fic Ideas Too bad to be a B Movie!**_

(1)

Mr. Lancer: You're late again, Mr. Fenton...

Danny: Well DUH, if you had to beat off a fruitloop, a frog in a robot suit and a rock singer with self esteem issues with a glowing stick before school you'd be late too!

Mr. Lancer: (blink) What?

Danny: I said-- oh crap... Oh crap.

(2)

--DEAD. NOT HAPPENING.--

(3)

Danny: (in class)

Box Lunch: (pops in) BEWARE!

Danny: Leave me the heck alone!

Box Lunch: never! (gets out chocolate chip cookies) cookie, honeybun?

Danny: no... and only Sam can call me pet names! NOW GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE! (grabs ectogun from pocket, shoots)

Box Lunch: BEWARE!

Dash: Dude, did that ghost call you _Honeybun?_

Danny: I can faze you clear into the Earth's core. Shut up.

(4)

Pam: Sam, what do you see in that Fenton boy!

Sam: he's my best friend!

Pam: he's a monster! Why don't date one of the nice boys, like that Phantom character?

Sam: (eye twitch) Oh irony, pure, bitter irony...

(5)

Jack:I know! Let's Visit V-man!

Danny: But he tries to kill you on a bi-weekly basis-!- er... I mean... his packer motif gives me gas?

Jack: Then get some Beano, we're going to Wisconsin!

Danny: NOO!

WINNER:

3!

However, there is a surprise in store...


	8. Detention with Danny

I'm SO SORRY! School is killing me with a rusty knife, but that is still no excuse for leaving you guys like this! Feel free to flame me for it, I REALLY deserve it... The flame retardant suit is ready...

Anyway, because of the close pools, I decided to do one _and _three! They'll be separate though. Originally they were the same, but it just wouldn't fit a time line properly. Bad news... It has no real plot and is really a bunch of stupid memories... Like the Simpson's clip show...

------

**DETENTION WITH DANNY:**

**ALERT THE ALLITERATION AGENCY!**

I sigh as I drum my fingers along the desk. Detention with Lancer. AGAIN. You'd think the old farce would give it the heck up already. No matter how many detentions you give me I'm still gonna be late. You want to do something about it, take it up with the billionaire sociopath after my mom _(ew)_.

But now, Lancer is Lancer, has been Lancer, and-unless personality surgery becomes available within the next decade (please, let karma have a date tonight!)- will always be Lancer. I pity the generations to come. The poor saps'll have to live with something even worse than a farce-- an _old, wrinkly, **middle age-crisis ridden**_ farce.

Anyway, here I am stuck in detention with Sam, Tucker, Dash, Paulina, Valerie, and Joe Average. No really, that's his name; Joe Average. And Mrs. Average. And all the little Averages too come. Ah well, it beats Smith. And that poor sap named carp...

So here we are, merrily drumming away our fingers on balsa wood slabs stabbed and held up on sticks in the building come to be known as life's living hell. Lord take me now.

I look around to 'study' my 'classmates'. Tucker's messing with his PDA under the desk- no surprise there. I swear the kid's more addicted to that thing then I am to Reeses... Well, maybe not _that _much. I still need to talk to those guys at Guinness. Still, his twenty waking hours a day are filled with that device. I think he named it Hubert... Looking away now.

Paulina's messing with her makeup... her really, really, hot makeup... over there... (slap) Snap out of it Fenton, you want Sam's size seven to meet your inner plumbing? _Again?_ It took long enough getting your stomach pumped for it last time. I'm pretty sure her foot print is still visible on my small intestine...That's what the doctor said... Next Person.

Dash is sitting there, grumbling. Ah yes, justice was finally served; Mr. Lancer caught Dash giving me a swirly... Funnily enough, neither of them noticed that my head was intangible the whole time. Figures really, karma's gotta let up some time. A couple of idiots like them would never, never notice the fact that my head was partially see-through. What's the word, eh... transport? Transpartial? Transparent? That's the one! Let's hear it for evil English teachers forcing us to memorize crap we'll never use!

Valerie next. Late in class for hunting me. You'd think she would have given up after I melted her suit in outer space, but no, she has to be a right stubborn git about it and shove an elephant gun the size of several small European countries at my head. That's Val for you. Never gives up, especially about mounting my head above her pillow.

Sam is doodling at the moment. She is also grumbling several expletives she shouldn't know. Then again, _I _know them... So they have to be legal in _some _states. I think she just doodled me blasting Paulina's face off. Come now Sammy, _that _would be a sin. Blasting away Dash's ability to have children... Now _that's _something to doodle!

...Man I want my pencil to draw that, but no, Skulker just had to get a new chainsaw this morning. My poor little 99-cent-store-stick didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell.

Last is Joe Average, who strangely, has the least average reason for being here. Namely, tripping on the floor, hitting the janitor, who knocked over the mop and bucket, which spilled water, which annihilated the cafeteria schedule for year 2017. Nobody cares how though. Heck, I didn't even know he _existed _before this.

I remember the moment that landed me in this hellhole like it was yesterday... Then again, it was seven hours ago. Maybe my memory is failing... Then I could forget everything, start as life as some random hobo doing magic tricks on street corners, and slowly tear apart the very fabric of reality until it's a mutilated, bloodied shadow of it's former self... By god, I need to stop borrowing Sam's goth books.

Anyway, here's how it happened. I had just come back from a triple fight with Pop princess, Frog boy and Fruit loop. With the Fenton anti-creep stick. Because mom decided that it would be fun to use this new weapon that made overshadowing ghosts go unconscious. It also happened to send my ghost half on a nice trip to dream land. Lucky. He gets to sleep, but do I? No. Wait, am I being jealous o_f myself? _Jazz'll have a field day with that one... Anyway...

If my daydreams have been anything to go by, he's dreaming of a swimming pool full of melted cheese, ranch dressing, and glowing fudge. Lots of glowing fudge. In the shape of the world's largest deep fried Twinkie(1). With little gummy bats on top reading "I LIKE POINTY THINGS!"

guess insanity _is _contagious after all. Moving on...

_I am running down the hallway, cursing every time I come to one of those damn corners. Why do they use corners anyway? Curves would be easier... More, eh, what was that world my science teacher used? Airodynamco? Areodingin? Aerodynamic? Yeah, I think that's it... Besides, what happened to going 'as the crow flies'? If that saying _lasted _this long, it has to have some truth behind it... Then again, there is 'Spare the rod, spoil the child...'_

_So, anyway, I run into the back door to Lancer's room, and right into his potted plant. The damn pine tree that left pine needles up my nose! It's been there since CHRISTMAS TWENTY YEARS AGO, for the sake of all that is good and Reesesity. It's a danger to society, health, and most of all, Mikey's allergies! That kid can shoot a booger bomb clear across the room! I think he got a medal for it in the nerd Olympics._

_...don't ask HOW a kid is allergic to silk plants. You don't _want _to know._

_So, I crash and stumble over the potted plant, landing smack dab on the middle of the floor. Next to an all too familiar jello mark. That _thing _give won't give up, will it? It's been THREE MONTHS... Shouldn't the janitor have, I dunno, CLEANED it by now? Lazy gits..._

_Lancer glares at me from where he's standing... two feet from me. GREAT..._

"_Late again, Mr. Fenton?" he patronizes, glancing at my backpack, which I just noticed landed in my seat... Oh _sure, _I don't make it in time, but my backpack? A perfect landing... Except that something's dripping from it. There goes my peach snapple... Karma's. Punching. Bag._

_I glare up at him, my eyes beginning to glow. He takes a step back. Yeah, he'd better be scared, I'm a half ghost geek who can kill him in forty-two different ways without _touching _him. Pick a number between one and forty-two..._

_Instead, I yell out, "Well _DUH_, if you had to beat off a fruit loop, a frog in a robot suit and a rock singer with self esteem issues with a glowing stick before school you'd be late too!"_

_His eyebrows raise, and his mouth hangs. Yeah, you heard me! I'm one pissed off halfa! Don't mess with m, because I'm about two seconds from making a PMSING Sam look like JAZZ!_

_His eyes twitch, and he mumbles, "What?"_

_I glare again, saying, "I said--" realization dawns..."--Oh crap. Oh crap..."_

_...nice going, Fenton. Why don't you just blurt that you're a half ghost freakazoid to a pack of rabid Fourteen year olds who open their mouth more than they do their books? By the end of the day the whole friggin' school will know... and Oh, the THINGS Jazz'll do to me! Holy crud, I'll be full ghost before I even get the chance to write my will! _

"_Perhaps it would aid in exorcising your overactive imagination to join drama club, Mr. Fenton. Detention after school, no excuses." he mutters, turning around, leaving me slamming my head against the cold Linoleum tiles._

So, here I am. Stuck in detention with everybody who hates me in one room... Just like Walker's prison. Except this time Tucker and Sam are around, too. Ah well, at least they won't form a plan to snipe with with a poison dart disguised as a spitball using notes... No, I'm not paranoid. My parents did the same thing to me on the way to school, just replace 'spitball' with 'fudge bar'.

Writing about ways to improve society via having a stop sign installed on Spook Street. Yes, _Spook Street._ My street, by the way. Shouldn't surprise you, Amity _is _a ghoul town. Think about it. _Casper _High? The _Casper _High _Ravens?_ _Amity _Park, the _Amityville _Horror? I'm pretty sure Jaws was done in an Amity too. This place was a supernatural hot spot even _before _my insane parents moved in. If course, just to top it all off, my parents had to move onto the corner of _Spook Street _and _Leer Lane._

Well, how can I work this? What's happened on my street... There was that car accident on the way to a kid's birthday party... Oh yeah, there was also the time that kid's mom ran over their foot with a car... In fact, I'm pretty sure it was the same kid(2)...

I should write this stuff down, I suppose. Otherwise I'll be stuck here for hell knows how long. Damn it, how many years did it take them to get this torture perfected? No talking, no joking around... Just sitting there. Doing nothing. For an hour. Good god, we're teenagers, this goes against every code teenagers follow! --except for those chess nerds that don't do anything anyway. Yeah, they must have helped along. No teacher could invade a person's mind this thoroughly... Well, Jazz maybe, but she's not going to be a teacher.

...I hope. Otherwise, the generations to come won't stand a chance. Sugar coated over protective psychoanalyzing teacher? That is a worse nightmare than Dark Dan... Or, as I have christened him, Y.A.T.Z.I. You are turning zanily insane. Y.A.T.Z.I

...Okay, so Sam came up with it. Cut me a break, I'm not exactly the sharpest knife on the Christmas tree... No, I mean that. You want to know what Sam does to the Christmas tree when her parents aren't looking? I'm pretty sure she snook up on a ladder and replaced the angel's head with a punk'd out dismembered head when she was ten. In fact, a garden gnome _was _missing it's head that year...

What I don't get is, if she's Jewish, why does she even _have _a tree? Probably so her parents 'fit in'. Blah blah blah... Like that'll ever work... I heard a snippet of conversation that she was planning on asking Tucker (read, forcing using blackmail) to mess around with the menorah so that five foot tall black flames came out. Sounds like loads of fun.

So, back to working on this damn assignment from hell... You know what, screw this. It's note passing time, and Lancer's gone on a 'restroom break'. Truth be told, I doubt that is what he does in there. The horrors of an overweight middle aged teacher in a bathroom. Oh good god, I will never erase that picture from my nightmares... It went like this...

_It was lunch, and my ghost sense went off. I, being the gentlemen I am, cussed out the _floor _while trying to find a place to transform. At last, I spot a bathroom on the right hand side, and yank open the door. Really, I should have stopped to consider before hand. What if it was a __girl's room?No person can ever escape that kind of torment if word got out. Pretty soon everybody would pin me a cross dresser and I'd be sent to some stupid reformation academy in Ohio!_

_But, instead, I went into something even more horrifying... The teacher's bathroom. The epiphany of grotesque bodies.(let's her it for being belted down to a chair and being forced to watch the National Geographic Channel on Saturday night by evil sisters!) Bearbert has yet to be found, by the way. Still in the chimney, probably singed from that chestnut roast we had during Christmas._

_There I came face to face with one shirtless Mr. Lancer, proudly holding a hand shaver to his back and whistling 'American Pie'. I quickly jetted to the next bathroom to transform and take care of the job._

That image will forever be burned into my poor eyeballs. It haunts my dreams to this very day. Heck, just last night I had a dream about being crushed by that _mountain _of hair on the man's back when he shaved. Jazz is trying to get me to a therapist, but it would take quite a bit of explaining about why I went into the teacher's bathroom in the first place.

Anyway, back to something that _won't _send me to the crazy house, I yanked a piece of lined paper and began writing notes. (Danny is bold, Sam italic, Tucker underline. Because I'm a lazy git like that.)

**Hey guys, this suck or what?**

You know it dude. Like I'll give a damn about the history of the toaster in ten years...

**Hey, it beats reasons to have a stop sign on my street.**

_Or the affect better glue formulas had on library budgets during the fifties._

**Ouch.**

Are they this evil on purpose?

**98 of the teenage population agrees...**

_DO. NOT. GO. THERE. You know how badly I hate those things._

**Yeah, I still have the campaign sign in my closet.**

Ditto here.

_...So... What now?_

**Rant about my life?**

_No._

**Damn. Ah dang it, Lancer's back. Hide the no-**

I was cut off by Lancer grabbing the note. Ah crap, _this _will _not _end well. I can already feel my parent's glares now.

"Note passing is not allowed in detention, Mr. Fenton. The three of you have essays about your life story due tomorrow. Five thousand words, single spaced, handwritten. Yes, handwritten, Mr. Foley." he hisses before moving back to his chair.

Well, I guess I won't be getting any sleep _this time _either... My parents never notice that I am always groggy like heck in the mornings. You have to _love _that attentive parenting. They didn't notice when Skulker broke my arm either. Nor the black eyes... Or the sling... OR THE BLOODSTAINS ON MY SHEETS...

I'm ranting again, aren't I? Damn genetics. Why couldn't I be the child of lawyers or something? I'm not going to say it aloud, because I'll never know when Desiree will get loose. After that whole 'never met Sam' incident, I'm more careful around the green skinned genie. She really should wish that she finally _got _her heart's desire- she's happy, I don't have to kick her butt on a weekly basis, everybody wins. Well, except whatever poor country she ends up queen as... But I digress. Not my issue.

I glare down at the college rule, my pencil pushing so hard into it that it's swiftly becoming a very efficient paper cutter. Maybe if I am it right it'll go up Lancer's nose... If it can clear that chin of his, that is. I swear, how he doesn't stab himself with that when he looks down to tie his shoes is a secret I will never know.

Might as well begin this evil assignment. _The life of god's punching bag..._

----------

(1)Deep fried Twinkie: These were actually sold at the Los Angeles State fair. I have a cell phone picture to prove it, too. Email me for the picture, because my computer crashes every time I try to change my profile. It's a 99 dollar piece of crap from the after holidays sale at Fry's Electronics running on the same operating system as my _toaster_. That should tell you something.

(2) True story, except it was my friend's birthday party. I just happened to be carpooling with her. Oh the legal documents! ...and that cast was so _itchy..._

Keep in mind, this was written while under the influence of four month old Reeses pieces. You have to love what you find half frozen in the back of the refrigerator. I know this was a bit cut off, but I will get around to writing Danny's report EVENTUALLY.


	9. Silent night, Danny's plight

So sorry for the wait! Feel free to flame me! School has been EVIL. One hundred twenty hand written pages on the Diary of Anne Frank, a Newspaper Article from 1750, a book report, and a presentation on how to plant a flower bulb -.-

That, and my muses have abandoned me to engage warfare on each other. Meh.

Anyway, without further ado, I give you... A Danny Phantom Christmas!

Disclaimer: I don't own Danny phantom, Twinkie, Foamy the Squirrel, the Wii, Gamestop, Spatula city, UHF, Reeses, Monty Python, Costco, MythBusters, Invader Zim, Rugrats,

Christmas with the Fentons

"What do you mean you shot Santa with the_ Fenton Bazooka_?!"

It's Christmas time here in Amity Park, and things are going swell... Okay, you know I'm lying. Since when does life _EVER _go swell for me? I'm forever cursed as the punching bag for temperamental all powerful beings! Branded since the moment I popped out and started wailing away!

...Say, why'd you miss Thanksgiving, anyway? You missed a radioactive Turkey trying to chew my toes off... You know, it's better you didn't see it... Wait do you mean that's what you're seeing next time?! Ah man...

Ack, why do I do this. I could be sitting in my room toiling away at Lancer's report, but no, I'm here Christmas shopping... Oh yeah, that's why... Remember, you're doing this for the moon rock... Moon Rock...

Oh, what now? I wasn't talking to myself! I'm not crazy! Take away those men in the nice white coats! Take them AWAY!

..._OH,_You want to know what I'm talking about? That's new, usually I just blabber on and on and you sit there and laugh at my misery... Like that's new...

Anyway, moon rock... Some creepy girl said she'd give me a moon rock if I talked about my trip to the mall to shop for Christmas presents... Something tells me I shouldn't trust someone who gets drunk off Doctor Pepper(1), but hey, why would she lie to me?

...Don't answer. Don't. I'm me, I'm allowed to be a gullible, clueless pain in the ass. It's who I am, who my dad is, and who pretty much every male in my father's side of the family is. One wonders how so many generations of idiots managed to find a woman who didn't outright despise them, but hey, there's someone for everyone. I think...

Anyway, where was we before I started ranting about who's paying, blackmailing and/or threatening me to do this? Oh yeah, Christmas in Amity Park! Well, after last year's incident with the rhyming creep, I'm taking care to actually pretend to be nice. Hey, might as well let them think I don't want to tear out the windpipe of every caroler that goes by, right? But if those kindergarteners singing Jingle Bells come again for a fifth time it'll be war... War I say! War on the teetsy little things! Yes, haha!

...Okay, I'm done now. For now, anyway...

Oh yeah, Or permanently shut up the little screamers that crowd the mall every year to 'see Santa's Workshop' and 'tell Santa what they want for Christmas'. In other words, sit in the lap of some poor sap and start with the yelling and the screaming and the general annoying noises that emit from their gullets over how _sweet _and _nice_ and _kind_ they were that year (right in the face of, you know, the whole screaming thing...)

So... many... screaming... voices... 'I want a pony!' 'I want a dolly!' 'I want a Transformer!' Why won't the little brats just SHUT THE HECK UP?! Really, how hard is it for parents to tape their mouths closed or stuff them with a toilet plunger or DO SOMETHING to stop the noise wailing? I swear it can get on tabs with my ghostly wail, and they're completely mortal! ...Not that I'm not mortal, of course... _dang it Clockwork, why did you have to..._ AHEM,_ private thoughts here..._

Anyway, anyway, back to the high-decimal reading of those young voices. The least those elves could do is give free ear plugs to all the poor saps that have to go by there to get whatever the hell they want. Be fair, I've seen the ear plugs in their ears!

I mean, if I'm going to go by a hot dog at the food court, I don't need to hear migraine inducing yells of five year old ingrates while waiting in the half-a-freakin-hour long line to get the food when it takes so flippin' long that either I'm not hungry any more or I'm starving. Oh, the lines to get _cofee_ are outrageous... Wow, longest word of the day. Anyway, I still wonder why it takes so long to get a pretzel or a slice of pizza or whatever the hell. Ask for it. Take it out of case. Pay for it. Go. That's it.

I thought everybody would be buying online this year, but no, they're herding around the stores like deer to a watering hole, like every year before... Or rats to a fresh corpse. Yeah, that's a batter analogy. Hundreds of starved, enraged rats all scratching and biting each other to get the choice bit first.

At least, that's what I felt Gamestop was like when I stopped by there to get the Wii Sam and I are getting Tuck as a joint present. Why are we doing a joint present, you ask? We're sharing because I have absolutely no creativity and would probably get something that he would hate and give back for store credit! It's in the Fenton genes to be idiots when it comes to other people.

Look at dad- he got mom a _spatula _for her birthday. Exactly like the three others he's given her. He gets them from a place called Spatula City... I think I heard that name in a Weird Al movie. Some loser gets his own TV Station and fills it with stupid shows idiots watch.. Idiots like me! I think it was called VHF.. IHF... UHF? I guess that's it. They have a creepy theme song, too... '_Spatula City, We Sell Spatulas!' _Yeah, like I didn't guess that from the name. Yes, I'm sure _Spatula _City sells toasters and bedspreads and gumballs!

...Okay, deep breath Fenton. Sorry, but I still have a headache from trying to get that Wii at the damn store. I don't think there was enough space to even remotely qualify with the fire department standard. What would happen if, say, one of the consoles suddenly erupted in flame?We'd all be killed by funky Japanese game parts falling like a rain of fiery DEATH! We'd all be dead! Well, except me, I could go intangible...

Yeah, but then they might wonder how some fourteen year old twerp survived. Yeah, not too good for the whole 'secret identity' deal. I was already cutting it close when Jazz accidentally bleached my hair. Don't ask _how_ she accidentally bleached my hair. It's a tale involving Reeses, back hair, Monty Python sketches, laundry, three charming orphans, and Twinkies. Lots and lots of TWINKIES.

Come to think of it, that reminds me of the present I got dad a couple weeks ago. You see, even though I'm hopeless at presents for _females_, I do have some idea of what other guys like. Particularly guys in my family because, as I'm sure you know, things tend to run in the family. Guess what they had at Costco when I went there to get a jumbo sized bag of Reeses?

An eighty year old Twinkie(2). I'm serious, the tag said 'Sell by 12-18-26', which was eighty years before the day I found it. Needless to say, I couldn't let such a rarity be wasted on someone who wouldn't appreciate it... Or rather, someone who wouldn't have to go to the hospital from _smelling_ it, leave actually eating it. No, it could only go to one with such a strong stomach that eating a pastry twice their age would have no ill serious effects.

So, I got it for dad. You should have seen the sales' person's face, it was something between horror and relief. I guess they had heard of it... From what I know, the thing's sort of an urban legend around the food area. The killer pastry.

I got it partly to save some poor guy's life, as I need some serious karma points. If I want to make it to eighteen, then I am going to have to do something to please those guys. Especially after Clockwork decided to save my skin from being roasted alive by my jerky older self.

I still wonder how _I_ turned into _that_ thing. I mean, really, first of all, why would I go around killing random people. Sure I have some emotional bugs... Okay, I fried a cockroach alive for contaminating my most holy Reeses storage. I have anger issues and, if you ticked me off bad enough (like, say, having a car accident with a Reeses truck and stopping the shipment), then I would probably knock your head off. But really, for now reason at all? That's not me. At least, I don't think...

So sue me. The other thing is, how did I manage to live through war for ten years? I barely make it through peace time, how would I possibly survive battle? Maybe Vlad is bribing the guys upstairs to be good to him, and it converted over when we 'combined'? That's all I can come up with.

Anyway, back to the creepy Twinkie. The other reason is that it's _Jazz's _turn to clean up the lab's toilet this time. Good god, I hope I'm around when she has to clean the portal-to-hell. The look on her face! I'll have revenge for when she used the shower for so long that I had to use the lab's shower!

...Oh, the _horror_ of bathing while encircled in a ring of dad's back hair. and the _smell_. At least I got out of school for a week because I got a rash on everything that touched the water. It still itches to think about...

Now, where the hell was I... Oh yes, trying to get Tucker's present. Right.

I swear there were fifty kids all yelling about this-person cutting them and how that-person needs to get to the back of the line. It was like... I don't know _how _ to describe it. Somewhere between exterminating rats and being in the middle of a stampede of extremely large parrots. Oh wait, Foamy the Squirrel put it best! "these little children with the high pitched frequency of whining and yelling just drills itself right into your brain!"

Yeah, the squirrel saves my brain once more! Go Foaminions! Join the cult and fear the Squirrelly Wrath!

...First the screaming kids, now complaining kids. What's next, ranting, kids? ...Oh yeah, right. Too late. _Damn genetics..._

Once I finally got the damn game safely securely zipped up in my backpack (as some lunatic might steal it otherwise, and I can't afford my half of another one), I had to once again brave the screamers. Unfortunately, the 'workshop' is right at the entrance of the game shop, so I had to be in the epicenter of the noise. Come now, everybody say it with me- _Kar-ma..._

When I went out, the very first noise I heard was the yell of 'Santa, Santa, Santa! I want a dolly and a pony and a new dress and a pretty necklace and..."

You get the picture of the little four year old girl was whining to the guy in the red fuzzy suit. You know, in a creepy way, she looks sort of like that girl from that one show... The one about the babies that are extremely gullible and fooled by the main one's cousin? Carpet Critters, no... Floor finks, nah... Rug Rats? Maybe on that one. It's been too long since Nickelodeon had anything worthwhile that I haven't watched it in months. I've been converted to MythBusters and Foamy the squirrel, ala Tucker and Sam respectively.

I sort of feel bad for the guy in the suit. It's a Christmas miracle that he hasn't gone deaf. Maybe he has earplugs to filter it out. Yeah, that's it, how else can he stand it? Still, that doesn't make up for the fact that, chances are, some of the younger ones'll pee on him. That's gotta be sick, having little kid pee on your pants until your shift is over. Lord knows the things those kids eat, I mean, the amount of sugar in their systems... Eck.

Then he has the smell on him all day, too. It takes days to get _that_ smell off, trust me, it happened to Sam when she had to take care of her two and four year old cousins. How they can be related to Sam is beyond me. They love pink and ponies, and ran screaming at the sight of Invader Zim. I mean, not even _Jazz _is that opposed to the show.

How can anybody be? Gir rocks their pathetic souls! and Zim is just... _Awesome. _You have to love how he's clueless, and yet, everybody is so much of an idiot that they never notice. It's sort of like me, in a creepy way. Except nobody knows... _Nobody will ever know..._

If you tell somebody, I will hunt you down and gut you like a FISH! For every person you tell it'll be an ectoblast to the head by morning! The same goes for anybody after my reeses... _My precciousss... _I will murder any and all who come within touching distance of my CHOCOLATE LOVE!

...Wow, that was new. Must be the holiday spirit or something, the damn git just wouldn't give up! Third time this week I had to send him back into the 'zone... It happened for the Fourth of July too- dead soldiers started popping up everywhere and shooting everything,particularly me! Don't I get enough of that History crap in _school?!_ I have to deal with it in leisure time too, now? Great... I guess Murphy didn't get what he wanted for Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, or Winter Solstice, or whatever it is he celebrates.

Well, at least my parents are acting somewhat normal this year. They're fighting over Santa again, like always. Logic versus Childhood beliefs... Geez, big contest there. I used to believe that ghosts didn't exist, but hey, look at me now.

My dad needs to give it up, the guy's either a fraud or a sadist! Breaking into houses, stealing food, and leaving what could be a bomb disguised as a gameboy! Not to mention that, but he always skips me! I never get what I want. No, I get stupid things like socks. I've gotten socks for every Christmas, what in the hell am I going to to do with _socks what reindeer on them?!_

Wait a second... Did I just go against dad's beliefs... Holy.

Maybe not everything is genetic, I'm the only one in my family that isn't normal... Maybe I have hope! Maybe I won't turn into a huge, hopeless fudge addict with back hair that turns into cement! Not all is lost! I might have a chance! Sing it with me! He's not insane, no, he ain't insane...

...What, no takers? Fine, be that way, imbeciles! You'll regret it when I rule the world with an iron fist! I shall force you all to be my slaves and will slowly torture you all into MINDLESS DRONES! Fear the wrath of DANNY!

..._Where in the hell did that come from?_

We'll ponder that later. Much. Later. Preferably when... 2116 people aren't watching. Geez, 2116? You guys need things to do other than watching my misery. Get a job you bum. Do something with your life, find a hobby. You know any video game out there you could be playing or something? I mean, seriously, who has time to read this crap...

Oh yeah, duh, you're reading stories about fictional characters that have no real effect on life! Of course you have to time to read this crap! It's not like you have a real life or anything!

Hey, wait, why'd I say that? I'm an idiot, where could I come up with something like _that_? Wait, what's this on my... THAT GIRL CHIPPED ME! I thought she was getting the silly string out my hair, but no, she was putting a microphone in! I'll get you, mark my words!

What did that girl say her name was... Oh yes, Mad Vlasters. I'll find you Mad Vlasters!

...Let's just forget this little incident, shall we? Good.

Now then, ahem... I believe I was ranting about Santa's workshop. Yes, that _sounds_ right. I- Oh, crud, that's my cell... The holiday, spirit, again? Good lord... I'll be back, later...

------

(1) My friend can actually do that. He gets drunk (or at least acts drunk) when he chugs Doctor Pepper. Between him drunk off Doctor Pepper, my other friend hyper off pasta (somehow), and me caffeine hyped off coffee, you'd be surprised that people are convinced we're sane. _Convinced_ being the key term.

(2) I actually found this at Costco when I went there with my dad, except it was 7-06-22, and it was that exact day eighty years later when I found it. We didn't buy it, though- my dad was worried the dog would eat it and die for something.


End file.
